Siren's Song
by Thread-wing
Summary: Captain Sherlock Holmes of the proud ship Deduction sails under the Jolly Roger in search of something to ease his boredom. What he finds is more than he bargained for. No Johnlock, rated T for language and mild violence
1. Siren

**So in case you guys were wondering, here's a taste of what I've been working on while breaking from CatLocked. I might continue this based on what everyone thinks of it, so please take a moment to voice your opinion in the reviews. Thanks for reading ^^**

* * *

The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as the ship's captain walked to the bow, gazing out into the never ending sea. The salty wind whipped his long dark curls around his pale face, tugging at the collar of his jacket which was turned up around his neck. He raised a thin hand to shield his eyes from the blinding sun, just peeking over the far off horizon.

He turned slowly to survey his crew, lazing about the ship as it rested in the calm waters. A few had even climbed overboard, splashing about in the water like little kids. He smiled inwardly to himself, though his heavily bowed lips didn't display a hint of amusement, drawn forever in a curved line of boredom. They'd just left port at a rather wealthy country, having plundered its residence dry and were well sustained for quite a while. Both crew and captain were happy to take a break and just enjoy their victory for a good while.

"Captain Holmes." He turned to find his first mate climbing up to the top deck. "Some of the crew is saying they've spotted a monster in the water."

The captain scoffed, waving his hand dismissively "Really, James, there's no such thing." Of course there was, he was well aware of that, but there was no need to frighten the crew.

"Normally I would agree with you, Captain, but two men said they've seen it and Ms. Adler claims she heard singing." His Irish accent was lined with a subtle note of panic and Captain Holmes knew exactly why.

There were sirens in these waters.

Without another word he made his way to the ships edge, scanning the water for the telltale glint of a fish's tail. Nothing. The water was perfectly still. "Go tell the crew to find their positions, make sure everyone is accounted for, we're going to set sail. I can't risk losing anyone in these waters."

James nodded "Aye, Captain." And with that he was back on the main deck, barking orders to the crew to get to work.

Captain Holmes kept his eye on the ocean, walking both sides of the ship. There was no sign of anything out there, but if Irene had heard singing, then they weren't far away.

He turned to face his crew once again, watching them run about in a hurry to set sail. Obviously word had gotten out that they were running from sirens.

Something caught his eye near the stern of the ship. A few of his men were leaning over the railing, pointing to something out in the ocean. He quickly made his way over to them, drawing his spyglass as he heard shouts of 'Siren!' and 'Mermaid!' coming from the group. He pushed his way to the front as more and more of the crew surrounded them "Where?"

One of his men, a tall, blond ex military sniper, pointed out to a small island of rocks. "There, sir. Two of 'em"

Captain Holmes aimed his glass in that direction, scanning the rocks until he found the pair. Though still out of focus, he could tell they were about 26 years of age, assuming merfolk had the same lifespan as that of a human, and stunningly beautiful. But something wasn't right. They were watching something, but it wasn't his ship.

He leaned over the railing, scanning the waters below. There! A pinkish silver coloured tail flickered under the water for a brief second, then it was gone.

Captain Holmes gently pushed himself away, hoping no one else saw it. It was bad enough that two sirens were watching them from afar, and now one up... wait a second. He pulled out his spyglass again, aiming it at the two on the island.

Ah, he could see it now. There are different sub species of merfolk, sirens being only one of many. But they were usually smaller and with bright coloured tails. These two were larger with earthy grey and brown tails. They weren't sirens, they were selkies. But that one in the water, with the white coral tail...

"The two on the rock are harmless." He pocketed his spyglass and gazed at the sea beneath them, searching for that rosy silver flash of colour. Most of the crew had gathered around him now, staring and pointing at the rock island.

"And the one in the water, sir?" James whispered next to him. He'd clearly seen it as well.

The Captain sighed. "She might be dangerous."

His first mate nodded. "What shall we do then, Captain?"

He paused for a moment, weighing his options. The siren was an obvious threat, even if it was only one, and he knew he had to get his crew safely away from her. But a nagging thought kept edging into the back of his mind. Why hadn't she attacked yet? She was clearly within range and could very easily bring his men overboard, but she wasn't singing. Something didn't make sense, and when something didn't make sense, Captain Holmes had to be the first to find out.

A hint of a smile played on his lips. "James. James Moriarty. Capture that siren."

* * *

**Oh, and guys I'm well aware that sirens can look really ugly or really pretty or like harpys, and I know that selkies are supposed to be like a human in seal's skin, and I know a lot of my depictions of mythical creatures isn't the most commonly accepted, but that's all really completely irrelivant to the story, so just bear with me.**

**Also, as a warning, I've only seen season one, so forgive me if Irene's character seems a bit off.**

**And finally, yes, I am basing all my knowledge of pirates off the Pirates of the Caribbean movies**


	2. Pirate

**To anyone following Catlocked, I'm sorry for the wait, I'll try and update that next.**

* * *

It was suddenly very cold. The water around him disappeared as he was pulled from the sea. His tail was tangled helplessly in the cutting fishnet, which dug painfully into his skin and scales as he thrashed about. He was caught, and the only thing he could do right now was put up as much of a struggle as possible. A couple knots snapped under his claws, creating a small hole in the netting. He pulled desperately at the thin ropes, trying to widen the hole enough to escape through.

He cried out suddenly, ceasing his work as a searing pain tore through his shoulder, causing him to curl in on himself in agony. He'd fought many battles with others of his kind in the ocean, but always with tooth and claw, never had he experienced anything like this. He'd been struck by a human weapon. A couple more shots fired from above, but luckily none of them met their target.

He could feel himself being dragged up the side of the boat, struggling weakly as the wood scraped against his bare skin. A hot flow of blood dripped freely from his shoulder, coating his chest and hands as he tried desperately to stop the bleeding. He could see the dark shadows at the corner of his vision, slowly closing in around him as he felt his body go limp. His vision grew blurry, and the last thing he saw was his own blood falling far below him into the ocean, mixing with the once clear water and turning the spray red. He closed his eyes, losing his weakening hold on consciousness as he was dragged on board.

* * *

Captain Holmes watched the struggle from afar, marveling at how strong the mermaid was. He couldn't see all of her at once, as she was a tangled mess of fury in the net, whipping her tail against the restraints. He guessed that she was about 6 feet in length including her tail, which, although big, was still relatively small for a mermaid, and, unlike most of her kind, her sandy blonde hair was cut short. Must be a reason for that, he'll figure it out later.

His pale hands gripped the railing in anticipation as she clawed her way through the net, lashing out wildly and struggling to get free. He jumped slightly as a few shots rang out from the crowd gathered at the railing, watching in horror as a stream of blood started to drip down her shoulder.

He marched over to his crew, scattering the crowd and heading straight for the shooter, whom he knew was Sebastian, the tall blond man he'd picked up after he'd been dishonourably discharged from the military, and running from the law. He swiftly snatched the rifle from his hands, quickly unloading it and throwing it down on the deck. Sebastian was tall, but Captain Holmes was still a good two inches taller, and he seemed to tower over the military man as he scowled up at him.

"Mr. Moran, that is a rare and exotic creature, one that has yet to be fully explored and understood, and you're trying to kill it?" He pointed over the edge of the boat, to the slowly weakening being.

"It was about to escape, sir, I only immobilized it"

"And on whose orders?"

Sebastian fell silent. The two of them stared menacingly at each other, Moran backing off slightly as a murderous presence glinted in the Captain's eyes.

"Mine, Captain." The two of them turned to look down at the first mate, who'd made his way through the thinning crowd of crew members. Moriarty looked up at the two of them, both taller than him, but not by much. "He fired the shot on my order, sir."

Captain Holmes glared at him, scowling as his voice dropped menacingly. "That is not an order you have the authority of issuing."

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir it won't happen again."

The Captain looked from one to the other, quickly determining that his first mate was lying, that Moran had fired the shots without permission and Jim was covering for him. But before he could call them out on it, someone shouted from the railing, and the three of them turned to see that the mermaid had been pulled on deck.

Holmes forgot the situation at hand, anxiously pushing his way to the front of the crowd to get a look at the still form. His smile quickly vanished to a look of slight shock and confusion as he came to the creature's side.

It wasn't a mermaid at all, it was a merman. It was male.

His eyes swept over the nearly lifeless body, noting that he was still breathing, but had passed out due to blood loss. Not taking his eyes off the creature, he shouted orders over his shoulder to dress his wound. He surely was beautiful. His skin was tanned and his muscles defined by a life of swimming in the ocean currents. His body was slicked with blood, but Holmes could see old scars scattered across his torso, obviously from battles with other sea dwellers, possibly over food or territory or a mate. Even his tail, which was covered in small, light rosy scales, sported a few battle marks here and there. It was as though he'd been in the military, if merfolk had a military. Navy?

His thought process was stirred as the great tail moved slightly, shifting to the side as the merman slowly regained consciousness. His wound had stopped bleeding and was properly dressed, and the blood cleaned off his body.

He watched with rapt attention as the creatures eyes opened, revealing clear blue irises that flashed like a mirror when he looked around. He took in a breath of dry air and coughed violently, bringing a hand to his shoulder as he screamed in pain. He curled onto his side, lashing his tail weakly as he coughed and sputtered in the warm air.

The Captain cursed himself for not thinking ahead. Obviously, merfolk couldn't survive above water. His mind raced as he watched the gills on the side of his neck work madly to take a breath. He shouted to his crew, calling out Sebastian to carry the merman. "Take him down to the ballast tank, he needs water"

Sebastian nodded, grabbing the gasping creature, throwing him over his shoulder and heading below deck. The whole crew was silent, only a few working to relieve the awkward stillness. Captain Holmes turned about, eyeing the crew, who immediately went back to work. He beckoned towards Moriarty, motioning for him to join him as he followed Moran below deck.

* * *

The tank was almost empty, though there was enough for the merman to breathe. Sebastian waded into the water with the creature in his arms. He thrashed about for a moment as he hit the water, knocking Moran over once, before swimming to the far end of the tank, which was only about 45 feet away. Moran scowled, reaching instinctively for his gun before remembering the Captain had confiscated it, and made his way out of the water.

Holmes and Moriarty joined him shortly as he dried off, glaring at the merman who was swimming circles around the tank, searching for some means of escape. The three watched him in silence for a minute, his rosy silver scales glinting in the dark water, illuminated by the soft lantern light. It was very quiet down below, the only sounds were the moaning wood of the ship's hull and the merman's quiet splashing.

Moriarty whispered to the Captain, afraid to raise his voice in such a quiet place. "Do you think he can speak?"

Captain Holmes went over the facts of mermaids in his head, the stories he'd read when he was younger, or that his brother would tell him before he'd left. According to legends and eyewitness accounts, some merfolk could understand and speak English or sometimes Latin, but usually only depending on if they evolved around human colonies. He shrugged lightly, whispering back "Let's find out."

He turned to the merman, clasping his hands behind his back and standing tall. "Have you a name?"

The creature paused, bringing just his eyes above water to glare at his captors. He made no motion to move towards or away from them, neither any inclination to speak or that he even understood them.

Captain Holmes watched him as his eyes flickered between the three, admiring the glassy flash that was produced with each movement, probably caused by the presence of a transparent third eyelid to protect the eyes underwater. He smiled to himself, calling out to the merman again "Have you a name?"

His eyes darted quickly to the Captain, looking him up and down, taking in his tall, pale stature, his dark coat hanging elegantly off his lithe frame, the dark curls that framed his face under a gaudy pirate's hat, decorated with beads and feathers and lined with a black lace trim. He analyzed his face, looking over his strong jaw line and high cheekbones, the steep bow of his pale lips and his icy blue eyes. He'd never seen eyes like those before, almost inhuman.

They all stared at each other for about a minute, Holmes and Moriarty standing at the water's edge with Moran sitting a ways off, and the merman treading water easily with his strong tail. Finally, he brought his head fully above water and spoke "Who wants to know?"

Moriarty raised his eyebrows and Holmes's lips curled into a slight smile. Sebastian stood to lean against the far wall, still scowling at the creature, but with a bit more interest this time. Holmes answered the merman. "Captain Sherlock Holmes of the Deduction. Have you a name?" He asked, a tinge of annoyance entering his voice for having to repeat himself so many times.

The merman paused again, moving ever so slightly towards the three pirates. "John." He finally answered, his voice quiet and suspicious.

Sherlock nodded, taking off his hat and kneeling by the water. "You want to come here, John?" He held out his hand as he would to a dog, beckoning him over.

John stared at the long, pale fingers outstretched towards him. He refused to move, instead sinking lower into the water until only his eyes were visible again, watching every movement of the three men for about a minute, then he dove underwater again, flashing his tail for just a second then swimming to the deepest and furthest part of the tank, disappearing into the darkness.

Sherlock sighed, standing up and brushing off his coat. He turned to the two men. "It's best we leave him alone now, he's probably still very overwhelmed with everything that just happened and it would be wise not to push any more on him." He led them up the creaking stairs to the upper deck, turning to Moriarty as they walked. "I will return to check on him. Until then, I am putting you two in charge of guarding him, make sure no one goes down there."

Both men nodded "Yes, sir."

* * *

Sherlock left the two stationed at the top of the stairs. He was a bit nervous about leaving John in Sebastian's hands as he tended to be a little impulsive. But Jim would keep everything in order. He had a good head on his shoulders and Sebastian listened to him. Most importantly, Sherlock trusted him.

He made his way to his Captains quarters, pulling an old Sea Legends tome from his bookshelf, grunting under its massive weight. He flipped through the yellowing pages, reclining on the worn couch against the far wall. He smiled when he found the chapter on Merfolk, examining the sketch of a mermaiden on the first page. It depicted her with fair skin and a lithe, feminine body which gradually turned into a long, shimmering fish's tail. Sherlock thought it was fairly accurate, though John had more fish features, such as gills and fins and slightly webbed fingers. Of course, he had to take into consideration that John was male and most likely a different type of merfolk than the one in the drawing.

He turned the page, finding a list of the subchapters. There were three designated types of merfolk; common mermaids, sirens, and sea hags. Sherlock turned to sirens, placing a mental note to look at the other two later.

He found another picture, this time of a female sitting on a rock singing to a ship at sea. She had much the same appearance as the previous one, though she seemed to have a shorter, stronger looking tail and sported a number of fins like John. He flicked through the chapter, looking for anything on the male of the species. Singing, shipwreck, drowning, nothing on mermen. He tossed the book aside in disappointment, listening to the satisfying clatter it made as it hit the ground. He brought his hands to his lips in his signature thinking position, unfolding his legs so that he was lying out flat on the couch.

So there was no material in that book, supposedly the most accurate one he had, about the male species of the merfolk. That might make things a bit difficult in trying to understand John, at first, but he couldn't help the broad smile that pulled at his lips as he thought about exploring and discovering something so new. He jumped up from the couch, sweeping the mess of papers off his desk and replacing it with piles of books on myth and sea lore. He would learn what he could about John's species today, and tomorrow, he will study John himself.

* * *

The water in the tank sloshed about lazily with the ships movements, the rocking motion creating miniature waves on the wood panels. If John closed his eyes and ignored the creaking of the wood, he could almost sort of picture himself in the ocean again. He sighed heavily, opening his eyes again and watching the ripples above him. He'd really gotten himself screwed over this time.

He estimated it'd been about 20 hours since he'd last seen Captain Sherlock Holmes and the other two men, Sebastian he'd heard the blond one called, the one who had carried him to his prison. And the one with the dark eyes was something short, James? Jake, no... Jim? It was either Jim or James. He flicked his tail absently above the water, sending a sharp ripple across the surface. He hadn't slept since his capture. Sebastian had brought down a couple of fish for him, throwing them down just above the waterline, but he hadn't touched those either.

He sighed again, settling at the deepest part of the tank, resting his arms in his hands and curling his tail loosely around him. He absently looked over the tiny cuts and bruises he'd acquired from the previous day's scramble in the net, brushing his fingers gently over the hole in his shoulder. The bandage had come off in the water, obviously, and the skin was free to heal properly in the salty waves.

He looked up as he felt vibrations in the water, someone walking down the stairs. It wasn't Sebastian, he had long, heavy strides that almost pounded against the wood, and from what he remembered, the dark eyed man had smaller, almost bouncy steps that fell very lightly. This had to be the third man, then, Captain Holmes, as he glided down the stairs, his elegant footfalls barely detectable aside from the soft click of his boots.

His suspicions were confirmed as he saw the pale figure appear in the doorway. The water distorted his image a bit, but John could clearly see the long, dark coat that nearly dragged behind him, and the decorated hat he wore proudly atop his curling mess of hair. John peered over the waves for a better look, being careful to stay out of the light of the lantern he held in his hand.

Sherlock surveyed the dark waters, searching for the telltale shimmer of the merman's scales. He set the lamp down, quickly realizing he must be hiding in the shadows. "John?" he called out softly, waiting a moment for a response. When none came, he kneeled at the water's edge, sitting his hat by his side. "John, come out please."

He didn't know why he did it, but John slowly emerged from the shadows, eyeing the pirate captain as he moved towards him, only keeping his flashing eyes above the water. He stopped just out of Sherlock's reach, prepared to flee at the slightest sign of danger.

Captain Holmes smiled, drawing his knees up to his chest as he sat down on the damp wooden floor, his dark coat splayed out behind him. "Hello there"

John watched his movements carefully, drawing himself only far enough out of the water to respond. "Hello."

A pleased look lit up Sherlock's pale eyes. He slowly lifted his arm, reaching his hand out to the merman. "Will you come closer? I want to see you"

John just stared at him, lowering himself back into the water. Slowly, very slowly he inched forward, watching the captain carefully as he dragged himself into the shallow waters.

He was close enough for Sherlock to touch him now, but he didn't dare risk it for fear of scaring him away. He shifted his position again, retracting his arm and leaning forward on his knees to examine the merman. His body was small and slender, carved in places by strong muscles and tendons developed most likely over a warring history. Sherlock studied his face, softly worn by sun and sea wind, though not enough to accurately calculate his age. "How old are you?"

John tilted his head slightly, never taking his eyes off the captain. The question confused him. Merfolk had a fairly accurate sense of time, but they didn't find it very important to use it to track one's age like humans did. It seemed like such a vain practice. "I don't know"

Sherlock furrowed his brow "You don't know?"

John remained silent.

"When were you born?"

"I don't know"

"Can you guess?"

John hesitated, counting back the years to when he was a kid. "... About 30"

Sherlock smiled. "Same age as me, then. Do merfolk have the same lifespan as humans?"

John shrugged. "Probably, I don't know."

"You don't know?"

John sighed. He didn't like talking much, especially to the pirate that just kidnapped him and would probably be the end of him soon, but for some reason, he felt like he owed him something. "There haven't been records of a mermaid dying of old age for a long, long time."

Sherlock nodded in understanding. Merfolk were creatures of legend and myth, something humans are uneducated about and therefore scared of. Tales have been spun of how mermaids stole husbands from their wives and drowned them in the ocean and how sirens brought ships to their doom with nothing but their voice. Any human that came across a mermaid in this day and age would surely kill it.

He decided to drop that subject. "You are a siren, correct?"

John nodded.

"Do you sing?"

He nodded again. The Captain's voice was very soothing, and John couldn't help but to draw himself a little closer. After all, this was the first time he'd been so close to a human, and he was just as curious about Sherlock as he was about John.

Sherlock smiled, pleased that he was able to make the merman feel comfortable. "Will you sing for me?"

He shook his head no.

Sherlock frowned, leaning forward so he was resting his hands on the damp wooden floorboards. "Why not?"

John stared at him for a minute. He thought the Captain a fool, for the only time a siren sang was to bring down a ship or drown a sailor. "A siren's song is a survival technique, not a party trick"

Sherlock was intrigued. Of course he'd read all about siren's songs, but this was really his only chance to question a real member of the species. "Is it just used for sinking ships? Surely it has other purposes."

John sighed, resting his arms on the floor by Sherlock's feet, his rosy tail floating lazily in the water behind him. "It has other purposes, yes, but I really don't think it's a good idea to demonstrate right now."

"Why not? You could use it to capsize the ship, make my crew jump overboard, set yourself free. Do you not want that?"

The merman smirked, splashing his tail lightly and sending a ripple across the water. "Captain Sherlock Holmes I could sink your ship with a single note. But at what guarantee will I be secure as it falls apart? A sinking ship is almost never safe."

Sherlock smiled back, impressed by John's intelligence. He had far more questions, but someone was clattering down the stairs behind him. He turned to see Irene appear in the doorway.

"Captain, there's a ship on the horizon, your presence is requested on deck."

Sherlock sighed, brushing off his coat as he stood. "I'll be up in a minute, Ms. Adler, organize the crew, prepare to set sail." She nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

He sighed, turning back to John, but the merman had swam away the minute he'd turned around. He looked around for him in vain, but he was hiding somewhere in the shadows again. "John, I'll be back soon." And with a flourish of his coat, he was gone.

* * *

John stayed at the bottom of the tank for about an hour, watching the water slosh about as the ship moved. He folded his arms under his chin, sighing deeply. He couldn't tell what was happening above, but seeing as he was on a pirate ship, he was sure a battle would ensue. He flicked his tail absently, watching the waves reflection on his scales in what little light was in his prison.

He looked up as the door opened, letting in a soft yellow glow. The Captain's lanky shadow cast over the water, looking for John as he set the lantern down on the floor.

Sherlock walked to the water's edge, searching the shadows for the familiar glint of his tail. He kneeled on the damp wood, inching back slightly as the water lapped at his trousers. He rested his hands on his knees, waiting patiently for the merman to emerge.

John emerged from the shadows, swimming slowly towards the pirate Captain. He stopped a few feet away, his tail dragging slightly on the tank floor, treading water with his arms. He waited for a moment for Sherlock to say something, lifting himself out of the water when he remained silent. "Hello."

Captain Holmes smiled, glad he'd been able to get the merman to speak first. "Hello."

John thought for a moment about swimming away, ignoring the Captain and minding his own business, but his curiosity got the better of him and he moved a bit closer, ignoring his instincts to flee and resting his arms at Sherlock's knees. "So what happened up there?"

Sherlock looked down at him. "Nothing, it was a fishing ship a ways off, they bolted as soon as they saw our flag."

John nodded, looking past him towards the still open door. He could see a light coming from the top of the stairs. From what he remembered when he was being carried, he was taken down two flights of stairs, and he remembered being near the bow of the ship, although he wasn't really sure.

Sherlock caught him staring. "Are you trying to plan your escape?"

John scoffed, looking up at him. "Yeah, I'm just gonna run up a couple flights of stairs and then jump overboard."

A smile crept into the Captain's features, which he quickly tried to hide by looking at the doorway behind him, as though he was contemplating the merman's escape route. "Well, I suppose that could get a bit tricky"

John snorted "Yeah, ya think?"

The Captain resisted the urge to laugh, drawing his coat tighter around himself. His reaction surprised himself. He had here, in the ballast tank of his own ship, a specimen that no human before him had any contact with or records of, and instead of taking samples or conducting experiments, he was sitting here talking with him as though they were old friends. He smirked at the concept. Friends.

He took his hat off, setting it on the ground next to him. "So I guess there's really no hope for you, is there?"

John smiled, shaking his head. "Nope, I'm trapped here until you decide to set me free."

Sherlock sighed, leaning back on his hands and watching John's tail float delicately in the water, shifting every now and then to keep his body afloat. He hadn't really thought about what he would do after he'd finished with John, if he was ever going to be. It made it a bit harder keeping him here now that he knew him by his first name. "Do you have a surname, by the way?"

John stared up at him "A surname? You mean like a family name?" he nodded. "Watson."

"John Watson" Sherlock extended his hand, which John took after a second of hesitation. "Nice to meet you, John Watson."

For a moment, the two of them forgot their situation, that one was a captive and the other a captor, one was a merman and the other a human, that one was prey and the other predator. And for a moment, they were meeting on the same level, as friends.

They sat in silence for a while after they each pulled their hands away, ost in their own thoughts. Sherlock had never really had a friend before, and now after two days this merman was the closest he'd come to making one. Strange, but something of a bond had formed between them. At first it'd been an experiment, a way to earn John's trust so that he could examine him, but now he looked forward to seeing him. There was something about him that was just so soothing, so relaxing.

And John was feeling similarly confused about the whole situation. Here he was, a prisoner on Captain Holmes's ship, and he found himself not wanting to leave. He excused it as curiosity towards humans, but he knew, deep down, there was nothing waiting for him out there for him if he were to be let go. He was alone in the ocean, with no friends or relatives to speak of, aside from his sister, but he hadn't seen her in years. So in a way, this was a kind of adventure for him.

Finally, Sherlock broke the silence. He shifted forward so that he was leaning on his hands, looking down at John. "Can I touch you?"

John was a bit taken aback by the Captain's forwardness, but figured if he wanted to harm him, he would've done so by now. He shifted himself so that he was laying at the water's edge, tail curled to the side within Sherlock's reach. "Go ahead."

Sherlock smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, reaching out to gently stroke the glimmering scales. He ran his hand lightly down his tail, marveling at the strong muscles underneath, tensed to flee at the first hint of danger. He was surprised at how fish like it felt. He'd half expected it to feel like a costume, like someone had pulled a fish tail over their legs. But no, this was very, very real, and it pleased him to no end.

He moved his hand to John's hips, which made him flinch a bit. He may not be human but the movement still felt sexual and awkward. He repressed his urge to swim away, resting his head in his arms and casually flicking his tail as the Captain continued.

Sherlock smirked slightly at John's reaction, reciting a curt apology before continuing to examine him. This was definitely the most interesting part of the merman's body, where the scales melted into human skin. They transitioned seamlessly, gradiating from rosy silver to nearly transparent, allowing the skin to show through. He was surprised to find that these transparent scales covered most of his abdomen and nearly all the way up his spine, lending a glossy wet appearance to his human half.

John closed his eyes, slowly growing used to the pirate's thin hands exploring his body. It was an odd sensation, especially since he didn't show any intention of stopping until he'd examined every inch of him, but an unusual feeling of trust was building inside him, letting this stranger in as though he were a lifelong friend.

Sherlock moved to study his fins, long and translucent coral in colour. He'd seen them flow in the water, appearing almost like ribbons as they rippled against the waves. There was one on either side of his pelvis, each about a foot long, and surprisingly strong given their paper thin appearance, a dorsal fin that ran down the length of his tail from the small of his back, and of course the silvery fluke that measured almost three feet in length, and strong enough to take out a horse with one swing.

John sighed as Sherlock studied each one, how they functioned and where they connected to his body. He was starting to feel a bit manhandled, and he flicked his tail in annoyance. He smirked as he felt the Captain nearly fall backwards, not bothering to open his eyes.

Sherlock caught himself before he hit the floor, steadying himself with his arms as he watched the deadly tail settle back into place. He made a mental note to be a bit more careful in the future. He turned his attention to John's head, examining quickly the gills that flared on either side of his neck as the salty water flowed over them. They were covered in the same transparent scales as his abdomen and spine, and he reached out to touch them.

John jumped as Sherlock's cold fingers brushed against his throat, not realizing he had moved from his position near his tail. He glared up at him angrily, choosing to remain silent as he moved to settle his head back down in his arms. Maybe he could catch some sleep as the madman above him continued to look him over.

His thoughts were interrupted as said madman caught his face, forcing him to look up at him. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, Sherlock examining their colour and John wondering what the hell could be so interesting about his eyes.

Finally, Sherlock spoke. "You have a third eyelid, don't you?"

John nodded

Sherlock lowered his hands, dropping them to rest on his knees. "Show me."

John obliged, sweeping the transparent film over his blue eyes. He could still see fairly clearly, though everything was a bit brighter now. He wasn't quite sure how it worked, but it helped him see in the water's depths, so he didn't complain.

Sherlock resisted the urge to gasp. John's normally dull blue eyes took on an inhuman luster, flashing brightly and perfectly reflecting everything around him. Even their colour seemed to change to a sparkling aqua hue.

John stared up at him, daring to break the awkward silence. "Why is this so fascinating?"

Sherlock was brought back to reality "Because humans humans don't have a third eyelid, since we don't need to see in harsh conditions."

John tilted his head to the side, examining Captain Holmes's eyes more closely now. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded. John pushed himself up out of the water, staring into his eyes. There was no transparent eyelid, but something was definitely off about them. He'd heard that human eyes came in a variety of colours, mostly green, brown and blue, and the few times he'd been close enough to see them he'd only seen those three. He'd also heard of humans having silver or violet eyes, or even eyes of two different colours, and very rarely no colour at all. But he'd never heard of eyes like these. He supposed they fell into the blue category, though they were unnaturally bright with flecks of iridescent green woven in, and his whole iris seemed to shine like silver. If he didn't know any better, he'd say it was practically every eye colour mixed perfectly into one. But of course, that was impossible, right?

Sherlock pulled back after a minute, feeling a little awkward now that the merman was examining him. Was this how all his test subjects felt? He tried not to think about it.

John sighed, settling himself back into the water. "You have very different eyes"

"I know"

"I've never seen eyes like yours before"

"So you've seen other humans?"

John shrugged. "A few"

Sherlock decided to drop the subject. He'd had enough awkward moments for the day and decided it best to leave the merman alone for now. He stood up and brushed off his coat, returning his hat to his mess of dark curls.

John watched him carefully. "Leaving so soon?"

"I'll be back later tonight. I can tell you haven't eaten since you came aboard, do you want anything?"

John nodded, not realizing the growing emptiness in his stomach until now. "Whatever you can spare."

"Very well, I'll be back within the hour." He turned back to the merman once he'd reached the door. "It was nice to finally meet you, John Watson."

John pushed himself back into the water, floating just above the surface. "Likewise, Sherlock Holmes."


	3. Guilt

**Now, it is very late at night, so I am sure there will be many mistakes. Please point out any you see in the reviews, and I will fix them. Thank you very much, and goodnight**

**Oh, also... some slightly gory stuff or something, fair warning, now goodnight.**

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It had been three days since the merman had been brought on board, and the crew of the Deduction was starting to grow a bit worried. They'd been drifting aimlessly in the sea ever since, letting the tide take them wherever. They had an abundance of supplies, so there was no need to sail to port, but even still, the Captain was obsessed with John, and it made the crew nervous. He spent all his time down below deck, conversing with the merman, and they were beginning to suspect that the creature had cast a trance over him. But no one dared speak of it, not even amongst themselves. Captain Holmes was well respected and feared amongst the crew, and they understood that he knew what he was doing.

John had grown used to his confinement, even starting to enjoy the fact that he didn't have to hunt for himself anymore. He began to anticipate Sherlock's daily visits, immediately surfacing when he heard the pirate captain marching swiftly down the stairs. It had become a kind of a ritual for the two of them. Sherlock would meet John at the water's edge and kneel just out of reach of the miniature waves, setting his gaudily feathered hat down by his left side. John would rest on his arms by his right, shimmering tail floating in the water behind him, and answer any questions he had for him that day. And they would stay like that until the Captain was called to his duties on deck or had to retire to his cabin for the night.

Around the second day of his captivity, John started questioning the pirate about humans. He studied him just as much as Sherlock did, mostly questioning his clothing. The only thing John wore was a necklace made up of little white shells and sea glass that looped around his neck twice, sometimes draping over his shoulder, and so he found it odd that Sherlock had to have so many layers of clothes and fabrics that covered every inch of his skin aside from his face.

The waves sloshed heavily around the tank as the boat creaked back and forth in apparently rough waters. John surfaced again as he heard the light footsteps striding down the stairs, watching silently as the heavy wooden door opened, and the dark coated figure stepped gracefully towards him. That coat was the one item of clothing that never left his body. He cycled through silky shirts and expensive trousers daily, even changing his captain's hat now and then. But the one factor that always remained constant was that long, navy blue coat.

John approached his regular spot, resting lightly on his arms and letting his tail float in the water behind him. Sherlock took his place next to him, glancing at the shimmering scales. He drew his legs in as the boat rocked a little violently, splashing water over his boots.

"Is there a storm today?" John motioned to the creaking wood and the increasing torrent of ripples in the water.

Sherlock nodded, brushing a gloved hand through his hair as he rested his hat by his side. "Yeah, we're sailing right by the rim, had to change course to get around it, we should be out of it in about half an hour."

John nodded, resting his chin in his hands. "So what questions have you got for me today?"

A light smile crossed Captain Holmes's face as he turned to face the merman. "I was wondering, why did I find you alone out there? From everything I've read, merfolk travel in schools, yet there were no other siren's in sight."

John chewed his lip, pausing to form the answer in his mind. "I... am alone, yes. We usually travel in schools or pods consisting of our families, mothers, fathers, siblings, cousins. Well, I guess my family's just been dwindling, slowly dying out and no one marrying into other colonies. The only two left were my sister and myself. She recently took a wife, and we were accepted into another family for a while, but after a messy... divorce, we're both practically outcasts."

Sherlock raised his brow, leaning back on his arms. "Hm. I wasn't aware that mers had a marital status, or divorced for that matter."

"Well, it all really depends on where we live. If we live near a human colony, we usually pick up their language, their culture. And, although most families do honour the custom of marriage, there are some schools out there that are still a bit... primal"

"So, a family picks up the language of wherever they reside?"

"Yes."

"English, Spanish, German... Latin?"

"Uh huh."

"Then you keep a permanent residence. You don't migrate?"

"Yep."

Sherlock paused a moment, watching John's tail create ripples in the water. "Have you a native language?"

"Yeah, almost every type of mer has their own."

"And yours?"

John chuckled, pulling his lips pleasantly over his sharp teeth. "Song, of course."

Sherlock shifted his position, leaning closer to John. "Is it a different song than the one you use to..." He waved his hand through the air, trying to politely phrase his next words.

"Murder?" John offered.

"That works."

John sighed, looking down at his hands, examining the webbing and picking at his long, sharpened nails. "No, it's the same song. Obviously, it only affects humans."

The Captain tried to push his luck for about the sixth time since he'd met the merman. "Can I hear it?"

A brief look of annoyance flashed in John's eyes as he stared up at Sherlock. This man just didn't understand how dangerous he was. He could rip him to shreds with his physical strength alone, even without putting him in a trance, but still, he wanted him to sing? He obviously had a death wish. And John knew, oh he knew, he could bring this whole ship down by the sound of his voice, and their captain would be the one responsible, he wouldn't have the weight of a hundred deaths resting on his shoulders. But still, he could feel the burden pressing down, forcing him to submit to the one mutation that had forced him from his school. Guilt. Yes, he lied, he wasn't an outcast because of his sister's divorce, he was an outcast because he felt guilty about the lives he took, about the families he tore apart. He was born with a mutated emotion that no siren should possess. "No." He firmly answered.

"Why not?" He asked for the sixth time in half as many days.

"Because, Sherlock, it's a dangerous thing to use around so many humans, it could bring the ship down with me inside it." He explained once again.

The Captain opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the massive amount of moaning produced by his ship's hull. The two of them looked around in silence for a moment as the wood creaked and groaned around them. "Sorry" Sherlock muttered as he stood from his spot, dusting off his coat and replacing his hat. "It seems I have some duties to attend to on deck." And with that he was off, leaving John floating in the shallow water.

He watched the door close with a heavy click before circling back into the darker end of the tank, away from the lantern that had been placed for him yesterday. He settled at the bottom, laying on his back as he watched the waves in the surface increase intensity. He could feel the ship moving underneath him, swaying back and forth just short of violently. _Must have miscalculated exactly where the storm was _he thought to himself. He rested his head in his arms and closed his eyes, reminiscing on the conversation he'd had not five minutes ago.

_"Song, of course."_

_"Is it a different song than the one you use to..."_

_"Murder?"_

John shuddered at the thought, breathing in sharply through his nose as he thought back to the days when he lived with his family, before he was outcast. He remembered the hunt clearly, how he and his male cousins would hide behind rocks or below the water's surface as one or two females, usually his sister and her wife, as they had incredible voices, even for sirens, would sit and wait for a ship to pass by. Their singing was the cue to ready for an attack as the ship drew itself upon the rocks, unable to move as the family swarmed around it.

This is how it always went, the female's attracting the prey and the males going in for the kill. Not that they couldn't sing as well, they were just as talented as the women, but they were a bit less attractive, sporting sharp teeth and claws and a more fishy features than their female counterparts. But of course, that made them all the more equipped for killing.

And kill they did. John knew it was commonly thought amongst humans that merfolk ate their victims like animals, and he half wished this were true, as it would be a more justifiable reason for such mass murder. But alas, this was not the case. Once everyone was dead, the bloodied bodies were left to float out to sea, eventually to be scavenged by birds and fish, while the sirens plundered the ship, robbing the crew of their valuables and anything that could be useful. Then they would return to their homes, hidden in caves deep underwater, decked and glittering with the stolen treasures.

He remembered his first time. At the age of sixteen, his father had taken him out to join him and his sister on his first hunting trip, a proper initiation into manhood for a young merman. He'd been so excited. He'd never even seen a human before, just heard stories of how their top half looked like a mermaid, but their tail split in two and was stripped of all its scales. He'd begun to form a grotesque image in his mind of a merman lurching about on land with a bloodied tail that split further apart as he moved before coming together again, allowing him to walk about like a two legged animal. He was shocked when the first ship came into view.

He could just barely see her, but there, standing at the front of the boat, leaning over the edge in excitement, was a beautiful blonde maiden, whose hair was pulled back into an ornate coiffure, covered by a sheer white fabric, and wore a length of white cloth around her body, which fluttered gracefully as the wind caught it. She held in her hands a bushel of white flowers, which she clutched delicately to her chest as though it was her child. A man walked up beside her, stark in contrast with his black clothing, leaning over to kiss her quickly on the lips and joining their hands as he looked out to sea. They were oblivious to the looming threat.

Then the signal started. John's sister and his mother (these were the days before she'd met Clara, her wife) sitting side by side and singing at the top of their voices. Their long, blonde hair was woven through with ribbons and lace, pearls and shells draped around their necks, both wearing water soaked gowns they'd secured from previous raids to hide their tails. They recited an old poem, buried deep in the heart and soul of every siren in the sea, a beautiful love confession of a woman to the man she adored. Nearly impossible to translate to English. He watched as every movement on the ship stopped, turning to face the beautiful sound.

John could sense his cousins moving around him, sliding into the water to wait for the ship to crash. He felt a nudge on his shoulder, his father urging him to hide, suddenly realizing he was frozen to the spot. He shook his head, falling into place beside his family, poised to strike. His father had taught him everything he needed to know, how to hunt, how to maime, how to kill. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could've prepared him for the beauty he was about to destroy.

The ship collided on the rocks with a sickening crack, and he could hear the bodies flung over as the splintering wood fell away from underneath them. The singing stopped and suddenly he was lost in the frenzy as around twenty mermen flooded the wreck, overpowering the crew, who were just then snapping back into consciousness. He noticed they were all in some sort of formal wear, all wearing sparkling jewels and fancy suits.

He wasn't the fastest swimmer, and his family arrived at the debris before him, quickly dispatching any humans they could find. Every body he found was already torn up and floating lifeless in the water, which was slowly turning a sickening red. He swam around for a bit, watching his cousins dart in and out of the flotsam, killing or stealing anything they found. Then he found something. He found her. There, clinging to a broken mast and sobbing over the body of the man that was standing beside her not five minutes ago, was the woman in the now red dress. And she was alive. John panicked, and his vision blurred as his instincts and training kicked in.

When he opened his eyes again, the woman was underneath him, pinned against the rocks as his strong claws pierced her shoulders, drained eyes gazing up at nothing in the cold stare of death. It was a gruesome sight, the front of her throat had been torn out and ripped to shreds, dying the water red as her blood flowed into the surf. He passed his tongue over his sharp teeth and nearly spat in disgust as the coppery taste filled his mouth. He'd killed her.

He flinched as he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and turned to face his father, whose face was splattered with blood. He now understood why he always came home with his usually blond hair dyed red.

"Job well done, especially for your first hunt. Grab what you can." And then he was gone, swimming towards the wreckage to steal whatever remained. Not a word of comfort. John shook his head. Why would he need comfort? This was his life, this is what he did to survive. He told himself this every night, but he was still haunted by dreams of that blood red bride, crying over her husband one second, and staring death in the face the next. By the fourth night, he tossed away her ring, watching it fall to the darkest depths of the ocean before it faded out of sight.

Ever since then, he made up excuse after excuse to miss out on as many hunts as possible. But there were some he just couldn't avoid, and every time he returned home he was haunted by his victims. This went on for about ten more years, until he could no longer sleep because the ghosts would follow him into his dreams, led by the red bride as they tortured him in his sleep.

He didn't understand the emotion at the time, the mixture of overwhelming sadness and hurt and fear that churned inside him. He started to refuse going on hunts, even when he had no excuse to give, and it wasn't long before his father put a name to this unknown emotion. Guilt. And he didn't take kindly to it.

He was chased from his family by his own father, outcast for the crime of having a heart. He'd wandered the sea for five more years, living on his own and never once coming into contact with another human until he crossed paths with the Deduction and her Captain. However, ever since his capture, the nightmares had stopped. The weeping red bride called off her army of ghosts, surrendering to the power of Captain Sherlock Holmes. And by God, John was grateful.

He opened his eyes suddenly, snapping out of his flashback as the ship gave a violent lurch forward. He could hear panic up above, crew members running about frantically and the intense moaning and creaking of the wood around him. They were most definitely no longer on the edge of the storm.

John surfaced again, treading water as small waves crashed over his head. He could hear everything more clearly now, which he instantly regretted, as the groaning wood was almost deafening. He listened closely, faintly making out almost hysterical commands up above, and the unmistakable splatter of rain pounding on the deck. Every now and then there was a loud crack as lightning split the sky above them.

Another violent sway and the lantern fell to the ground, shattering and plunging him into complete darkness. Not that his sight was doing him any good down here anyway, but it was still a nice comfort to have. The storm carried on for quite some time, maybe twenty minutes, growing progressively louder and more violent as they seemed to be sailing directly towards its core.

All too suddenly, John felt a sharp pain in his ears as the sound of splintering wood echoed above him. His instincts told him to swim, and so he did, almost escaping the broken mast as it fell straight through the top decks, snagging at his tail. He managed to pull away, screaming bloody murder as the jagged wood carved down his right side. This was too much and too sudden, the Deduction was falling apart all around him, and he had no means of escape. Pain shot through his head as debris fell on top of him, trapping him to the bottom of the tank. Too much. Too much noise, too much pain, too much of everything, and way, way too much for him to handle. He could feel himself losing consciousness as the blood left his body, and his head throbbed mercilessly.

The last thing he saw was a dim light flooding the room as the door opened. He felt something wrap around his middle, lifting him up as he fell down into the sweet, silent darkness.


	4. Shipwrecked

**Woo! Bonus chapter!**

**This was actually the first chapter I wrote of this fic, so I already had it written up from the beginning. Welp, here you go. Enjoy!**

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The sound of crashing waves were the first thing John registered, but not of waves against the hull of a ship. No, these waves were louder, and he could taste the salty breeze, unobstructed by a wooden cabin. It was almost as if he was on a beach again, free from his prison. A cool splash of salty water and rolling sand descending on his tail confirmed this, though he didn't know how. The last he remembered was being held on Sherlock's ship, and a storm, and... oh.

The memories came flooding back to him. The ship swaying dangerously on the crashing waves, the shouts and screams on deck as a clap of thunder deafened him for a moment, then everything seemed to fall apart. Quite literally, as he remembered the wood splintering around him. The ship was sinking.

Something fell on him, and the last thing he remembered was someone entering the ballast tank, grabbing him around the middle and bringing him up out of the wreckage. Then his mind went blank.

_Must've blacked out.. _he thought to himself as he brought a hand to his head, finding a soaked bandage wrapped around his hair. Where did this come from? They had gone down in the middle of the ocean, surely no one but himself had survived, and that in itself was a feat.

He opened his eyes wide as a sudden realization hit him. Sherlock! Where was Sherlock? Damn it, he had to go look for him. He made to get up, to launch himself into the sea to start his search, but a sharp pain shot up his side and he cried out. He looked down at his tail and saw a long gash up the side, splitting his light coral scales and nearly severing his right pelvic fin. He moaned in agony as salt water rushed into the fresh wound.

The pain was so great that he didn't notice a shadow fly over him until it landed at his side, causing him to jump slightly. He expected a vulture or a harpy when he looked up, but instead saw the familiar face of the pale skinned captain. _Sherlock Holmes_.

"Sherlock..?" His voice wavered into a question as he realized how impossible this man was. There was no way an ordinary human would've been able to swim the Atlantic, especially in the middle of a storm. John's eyes flitted down his companions threadbare shirt, noting that he'd lost his trademark jacket and gaudy hat. What skin he could see was littered with cuts and bruises, and a long, freshly healed scar sliced down his cheek. He had bandages wrapped around his own head and hands that he'd torn from his sleeve, which was now reduced to nothing but a ragged covering over his left shoulder.

But what made John's breath hitch in his throat was the shimmering white mass that settled around him, framing his sharp features and splitting into two feathered wings folding out from his back. John found his voice weak with shock."... You're an angel."

The pirate rolled his eyes "John, I may have wings, and I may be your savior. But don't, not even for a second, mistake me for an angel." The feathers rustled softly as Sherlock curled them in, removing them from the glare of the sun and revealing that what John at first thought was glowing white, was just the light reflecting brightly off the silky texture. In reality, they were ragged and greasy black.

John pulled himself out of the water, ignoring the pain that whipped through his scales and rested his elbows on a sandy rock as he examined the new appendages. _He must have kept them hidden under that ridiculously long coat, explains why he never took it off..._

Sherlock approached the merman carefully, stepping over the splintered wood that littered the beach with his bare feet. He kneeled by Johns tail and gently pressed a palm to the split scales, robbed of their glorious luster by blood loss John winced and jerked his tail away, splashing it in the water instinctively as a flight response. Sherlock grabbed it gently, stilling it to avoid further injury "This is going to need stitches.."

John couldn't take his gaze off those inky black feathers. "I knew something was off about those eyes. If you're not an angel... then what?"

Sherlock caught his wandering eye and quickly retracted his wings, folding them neatly into the grooves on either side of his spine, which kept a smooth line down his back. He ignored the question. "You were out for a pretty long time, how's your head?"

"What are you?"

"Need to replace that bandage"

"What are you."

"And close up that gash..."

"Sherlock, what the hell are you?" John shouted, losing his patience.

The captain stopped, giving up his attempts to distract from the question. He turned to the gawking siren, eyeing him for a second before he kneeled down on the rock next to him. "John, what I'm about to tell you may alter your view of me, are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I don't think it can alter my view any more than this has" He gestured towards the slick feathers that he could see blowing around the captains lithe frame in the strong sea breeze.

Sherlock paused for a moment, sighing deeply, he adjusted his position in the sand, avoiding the merman's questioning eyes. "John... I'm a half-bred"

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**Muahaha! 'Nother cliffhanger. Y'all must hate me by now ;)**


	5. Half Bred

**I should probably mention a couple things at this point. First off, all sorts of mythical creatures exist in this world, not just merfolk. Second, yes I did steal the names of the ships from other fics, so don't hurt me TT-TT**

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John pushed back ever so slightly from the rock, grimacing as the salty water flowed over the open wound. Sherlock sighed. "Please stop moving, you're only making it worse." he pulled a needle and thread from his pockets "This won't be the best remedy, but It'll have to do until we can get our hands on some real medical equipment."

John winced as the needle pierced his flesh, the thread sliding under his damaged scales. But he'd had his fair share of stitching on the after hunts and instinctively let his tail go limp as Sherlock worked away. He heard the captain mumble as he slowly closed the gash "Never stitched up a fish before... should be the same process, though... have to experiment with that later..." John decided he'd save his questions until his wounds were taken care of.

He'd lost count of the number of stitches, but he guessed somewhere around 50-60 when Sherlock finally tied it off. The captain stood up, looking over his work, and, finding it flawless as usual, turned back to his patient. "Alright, you've got questions"

John sighed, glancing briefly at the fluttering feathers. Half-breds were the outcasts of the mythological world. A being born of one human parent and one of myth. His mind spun with the stories that were told about these half human monsters, the rage they felt towards their parents for creating them, and the vows of vengeance they took upon all of Earth's creatures.

Sherlock sat down on a rock next to John, who tried his best not to shy away. He glanced down at him briefly before sighing deeply and gazing out towards the horizon "We're not what you think, really." He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. For the first time in the few days John had known him, he looked completely sad and vulnerable.

"It's a tragic life.." he continued "Being born into a world where everyone fears you, to a mother who's made a horrible mistake. Obviously, I was forced to hide who I was from my peers, which meant I wasn't allowed to even talk to them. No interaction whatsoever, I grew up in my room surrounded by nothing but books, never allowed outside. Hence this complexion" He gestured half heartedly towards his pale face. "I started researching what I was, why the world was afraid of me. And then, of course, being alone, morals slowly started slipping away. It's not that I didn't know right from wrong, I just no longer cared. A torn suit, a broken vase, a stolen watch, a dead dog. What did it matter? There was no reward for me if I stayed out of trouble, so why not have some fun." His voice turned into a throaty growl as he listed off his sins.

John stared at him wide eyed. "So you turned to piracy."

Sherlock smiled "What's more thrilling than a high stakes game of tag? Always running from the law, taking what I wanted, and not having to care about who I hurt along the way. That's what I half-bred is supposed to do, isn't it?" His steely gaze bore down into John's eyes, threatening him to say otherwise. For the first time since he'd met the captain, he was truly frightened for his life.

Sherlock smiled and turned back to watch the waves rolling in, carrying jagged shards of wood onto the beach. Wood from his ship. Once upon a time he'd conquered the mighty seas with these scraps of wood. Now they were nothing but the ghastly remains of what once was. "I gathered a crew of willing men, bought my own ship with my stolen fortune, and took to the water. And no one ever had to know that I was.." He paused as he struggled for a decent word, failing and finally settling on "this".

John glanced over the black wings again, which Sherlock had let relax and flap idly in the salty wind. "If you don't mind me asking..." He stammered, trying to put politely what he wanted to say into words.

Sherlock smiled down at him, reading his thoughts and answering before he'd finished his question. "My mother was human, my father a harpy." He brought a wing around to his hand and stroked it gently, smoothing the ratty feathers. "Luckily I didn't inherit much from him, and was able to blend into human society well enough." John watched Sherlocks long, white fingers against the black feathers. Ivory on obsidian. The contrast seemed almost unreal.

"Does anyone else know?" He was growing more and more curious as his initial flight instinct dissolved away.

Sherlock shook his head, his wet curls sticking to his face. He brushed them away with an idle hand "My mother, my brother, and now you."

John shifted into a sitting position, leaning against the rock the captain was resting on "And your father?"

He scowled, as though the mention of the man left a bitter taste in his mouth. "Gone the moment my mother told him she was pregnant with me, his child. Male harpy's are natural born cowards."

"But not the female?"

Sherlock looked down at him as though he'd just asked if water was wet. "Of course not, John. The female harpy is a temptress, a beautiful woman with the wings and claws of a bird. She's vicious, taking whatever she pleases, and not caring about the consequences." He smiled at his companion. "Much like the siren."

John snorted his responce, watching the ocean spray dance over the rocks. "I suppose so. Female sirens tend to be more beautiful, less fish features and more of an elegant human body. But of course, that makes them more deadly"

The two of them continued complaining about women for a while longer, their conversation finally dissolving into a fit of laughter, which quickly died down into a comfortable silence as the pair watched the sea carry debris over the waves, pushing them in to touch the sand, then pulling them back out into it's salty grip. John finally broke the silence "So.. they're all gone. Jim, Irene, Sebastian, the whole crew.."

"Yes." Sherlock interrupted him "Not even you could've survived that crash. You'd be dead on the rocks had I not saved you."

John splashed his tail about in the wet sand. "Yeah, thanks for that." The tide had receded by now, leaving the two of them in little more than a muddy patch of sand and rock with a few pools here and there.

Sherlock looked down at the gash on his tail. It'd stopped bleeding by now, but it would still take a while to fully heal to the point where he could swim freely again. His eyes swept over the rosy scales, admiring their light gold shimmer even when dry...

"Um, John?" He touched his tail lightly with a long finger. Definitely dry.

"Hm?"

"Can you survive out of water?"

John smiled, nodding his response "Yep, sure can."

Sherlock eyed his gills, which were now closed tight against his skin, invisible to any observers unless one knew they were there. "But... how?"

John grinned even wider, obviously amused by the fact that he was still a mystery to the genius. He pointed to his gills, then chest in turn. "Binary respiratory system. My gills take in oxygen underwater, but they aren't necessary when there's no water to filter, so they close and I breathe through my lungs."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So basically you were faking dying the whole time you were on the ship?"

John held his hand up in defense "Hey, it's a natural reaction. Imagine someone drags you into a really hot room. It's uncomfortable, but you can still breathe, so you pretend to choke or gag so you can get back out into the fresh air again. Same thing as when you netted me and dragged me onto your ship." He paused for a moment to let his statements sink in. "I just wanted to go back to where I was comfortable"

Sherlock looked down at his hands as John stared at him with accusing eyes. "Yeah, sorry about that."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment, each silently begging the other to say something. Finally, John shifted from his position against the rocks, peering out into the ocean. "Sherlock, there's something out there that's not wood.."

The captain followed his gaze, his eyes coming to rest on a black object floating on the waves about 50 yards out. Thanks to his harpy heritage, Sherlock's eyes were much sharper than John's "Hey, that's my coat!"

John smiled "Good, I was starting to miss it. Want me to get it?"

Sherlock scoffed at him "Please, John, you're not going anywhere with that tail. I can get it." He leapt up off the rock, spreading his great black wings out to the sky. His feet only grazed the ground again for a moment before he was in the air, soaring higher over the sea towards his lost coat.

John leaned back against the rock again, his jaw dropping open as the captain took flight. He could feel the air pulse around him as he beat down on it from above. He glided the distance with ease, his huge wings, easily twice his length, spread out to his sides, flapping gently as he reached his goal. He circled around once, obviously for John's benefit, rising higher into the sky before folding his wings in and diving straight down. John leaned forward in anticipation as he approached the water, snapping his wings back out at the very last second, fetching the black coat from the waves and gliding over the water's surface before soaring back up again. John released the breath he hadn't realized he was holding as Sherlock flew back, black fabric in tow. He landed neatly at his side, barely making a sound as he touched the sandy beach, his wings folding up behind him, aligning themselves with his spine. He shook out the sopping coat, throwing it over his shoulders and busying himself adjusting it over his frame, pretending not to notice that the siren had been watching.

John just stared at him for a moment, stumbling over words in his head "That... was amazing."

Sherlock turned to him, confusion lining his features. "... You think so?"

"Of course. Brilliant. Absolutely extraordinary"

The captain remained silent, turning away to hide his pride, adjusting his lapels and turning up his collar. _Not exactly what I'd expected him to say, but alright._

John turned back out to the sea, scanning the horizon for something, anything to come into sight. A boat, a crewmember, anything they could recover, but nothing appeared. Everything that had resided on the Deduction was now lost at sea. He sighed heavily, turning into the salty breeze as it dried his hair "So, we're all alone, then?"

Sherlock turned to him, his coat, though a little tattered and still damp, once again hanging proudly on his thin body. "Yes, I suppose we are. We're the only two survivors" He looked down at the mermans now completely dried tail, still glittering a rosy gold in the light of the setting sun "Don't worry, though, someone will come pick us up"

John glanced up at him "Really? Who?"

He scowled, remaining standing as he gazed dramatically into the last rays of light peering over the horizon, dark curls whipping around his face in the ocean wind.. "Someone I know. He won't be long now." He sat down with a certain finality, and John knew that was the end of that conversation.

The pair fell into silence, watching the last shreds of light drown at the water's edge, leaving the sky a rusty pink and gold, very nearly the same colours as John's scales. And as the light slowly began to leave the world, the clouds turned the inky black of Sherlock's feathers.

John shifted in the sand. He could still feel the warmth of the sun baked rocks against his back, but it was fading fast, and he was growing cold. "Sherlock..."

"Hm?" It was growing incredibly dark, but he thought he saw the flash of those inhuman eyes as he turned to face him.

He hesitated for a moment "I'm... cold" His voice felt quiet and lame in the darkness.

He felt Sherlock stir next to him, hearing his feathers rustle under his coat as he stood up. "I'll make a fire, then.. There's plenty of wood washed up on the-"

"No." A hand pulled at the tail of his coat, stopping him in his tracks as he turned to face his companion. He had dragged himself towards the taller man, leaning forward to hold him back. "Sorry, I just.." He flicked the tip of his tail "Fish.. fire, not a good combination.

Sherlock searched the siren's face, slowly smiling as he came to a solid conclusion. "You're afraid of fire, aren't you?"

John let go of his coat, pulling back sheepishly. "Yeah, well. It's sorta instinct."

Sherlock nodded in understanding, kneeling on the sand next to him. "Our rescue ship will be here any minute, until then.." John could feel the captain's surprisingly strong arms wrap around him, pulling him up into his lap. He shrugged off his coat, letting it hang at his elbows as he stretched out his wings, carefully folding them around the shivering merman ".. this will have to suffice."

John smiled, folding his arms around his captain's thin waist, resting his head against his shoulder and closing his eyes.

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Sherlock counted exactly four minutes and twenty six seconds before John was unconscious. _Must be exhausted. I suppose it was an exciting day for him. _He curled his wings tighter around his sleeping form, blocking out the salty wind that swirled around them. The Minor Position should be here by now, what was taking so long? He could feel the boredom edging its way into his inactive mind. He groaned _I need to keep myself occupied_ He focused his attention to the merman curled up against his him. He'd still so much to learn about him..

He closed his eyes, concentrating on John's heartbeat against his chest. It was incredibly slow, too slow. Well, too slow for a human, and John didn't exactly fit that description. But still, a heartbeat at rest for a warm blooded organism, even an athletic one, should be... oh, was John cold blooded? He made a mental note to ask him that when he woke up.

Lets see, what else could he study. He glanced at the gash down the right side of John's tail. It was healing quite rapidly, almost twice the rate a human would. He re evaluated his previous estimation and concluded that he should probably be fit to swim within the month. That's good, he could be off far sooner than was expected.

Sherlock paused his thought process. Would John leave? Did he want him to leave? Where would he go? They've only known each other for a few days, but already it was becoming hard to imagine life without the merman. _I wonder if John feels the same way.._

Something caught his eye in the distance, interrupting his thoughts. Yes, there, just coming into view over the horizon, The Minor Position rocked gently over the waves as it sailed towards the stranded pair.

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John awoke feeling much warmer than he remembered falling asleep. He was vaguely aware of something covering his lower half, and the sand beneath his tail replaced by warm bed sheets. He opened his eyes, quickly bringing up a hand to shield them from the sudden glare of light. After recovering from the initial shock, he propped himself up on his arms and surveyed his surroundings.

The first thing he saw was the ornately painted white walls surrounding him, making up a large, rectangular room. The furnishing was obviously of expensive taste, cream velvet armchairs, a floor length mirror next to a massive wardrobe. Even an ivory chess set tucked away in the corner. He looked about the room once more, his eyes finally coming to rest on a dark figure sprawled out on a loveseat, black wings curled around himself. _Sherlock_

The door opened and John quickly looked up, expecting a danger of some sort.

A figure appeared in the doorway, dapperly dressed and standing with a posture rivaling Sherlock's. He strode into the room as though he owned the place, which, John thought upon further speculation, was probably the case.

The man eyed John briefly before turning to Sherlock, shaking him lightly on the shoulder. "Come now, time to wake up. Unless you plan on letting me tend to your friend myself." Sherlock stirred, groaning as he stretched out his wings, brushing the man's hand away.

John watched the two from the far corner of the bed. The man was tall, nearly as tall as Sherlock if not the same height. He had the same fair complexion, though a little darker than the captain, and with thin, styled red hair instead of thick, unruly black curls. Sherlock was much, much thinner than this man as well.

Sherlock stood suddenly, brushing with the other man's shoulder as he jumped up from the couch, striding over to John's side "Are you alright? How are you feeling?"

John nodded his reply, not taking his eyes off the other man. He had produced what appeared to be an umbrella from behind the door, and was now casually leaning on it, crossing one leg over the other. Sherlock sighed dramatically, folding his wings up again. "John, this is Captain Mycroft"

John settled back down in the bed, slightly more comfortable now that he knew this new man was no threat. So they were on a ship, the one that Sherlock said would rescue them.

Mycroft took a seat on one of the arm chairs across the room, twirling his umbrella handle between his fingers and pretending not to watch the two of them "Sherlock, please, don't act so offended by our relationship." A hint of a smile flashed across his thin lips as he glanced at John "I'm his brother"

Sherlock scowled "_Half_ - brother" He shifted his wings, readjusting them on his spine as if to make a point.

John looked from one to the other. There was a slight family resemblance, aside from the fact that Mycroft didn't have two black wings attached to his back. "Half brother.. on your mother's side, I presume?"

Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back, standing tall and subtly glaring at Mycroft, who was now occupying himself with his cufflinks. "Obviously." There was clear resentment in his voice.

John dropped his questions to a whisper. "So he's a..."

Sherlock sneered, turning back to John. "Yes, he's a _human_" He nearly spat the last word.

Mycroft smiled, rising from his chair and smoothing out his coat. "So testy with your accusations, brother. Is it really such a crime to be born to two human parents?" He made his way to the door with the same elegant stride as his half sibling, turning to bid the two good morning as he closed it behind him.

John and Sherlock were left alone in the room again, the tense atmosphere slowly residing. Sherlock let out a heavy sigh, slacking his posture and sitting at the foot of the bed. His wings slowly unfurled themselves, hanging limply over the white sheets. He brought a hand to his head, touching the fresh bandages. "I'm sorry about him. He's usually very personable, he just.." he ran his fingers through his hair, searching for appropriate words "Doesn't exactly _like_ mythical beings."

John laid back on a pillow, examining the gaudy chandelier above his head. "Why not?"

Sherlock pulled the sheets back slowly, examining the gash in John's tail. The stitching hadn't been touched, as Sherlock had done a pretty sound job, and the flesh was healing nicely, though it would definitely leave a nasty scar. "He's still a bit upset over the fact that a harpy tore apart his family and killed his mother. That and he's had a few unfortunate run ins, being a Mystic and all..."

John glanced up at him. "Your brother's a Mystic?"

"My _half_-brother is a Mystic, yes. Now quiet, let me see that head wound."

John leaned forward, allowing Sherlock to undo the bandages plastered to his hair. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what he'd been told long ago about Mystics.

They were a part of the human race, either born into a family of Mystics or had a run in with something of Myth and decided to study the had been rumors that they had special powers that separated them from the rest of humanity, but John wasn't entirely sure that was true. Although, they were defined by the ability to accomplish magickal feats, mostly having to do with summoning or communicating with creatures of Myth, sometimes even having the ability to change other races to human or vice versa.

He looked up as Sherlock pulled the bloodied bandage away from John's head, tossing it aside "Are you alright, John? You've been quiet for quite a while."

John nodded as the captain brought a wet cloth to the small gash on his head, dabbing gently at the dried blood caked in his hair."Yeah, I guess I just feel a little self conscious around Mycroft now."

Sherlock smirked, pulling out a fresh bandage and winding it carefully around the merman's head. "Yeah, he's been like that since I was born, seeing as I was part of the problem."

John smiled as Sherlock finished off the dressing, leaning back on the headboard. "Thank you, doctor."

Said doctor rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the bed to wash his hands in a basin of water nearby. "Now, there is a bit of a problem, John. As you already know, we're down a ship and a crew, so we're going to need to spend a few days at dock before we can set sail again." He looked up at the siren, drying his hands on a fluffy white towel. "Of course it's your choice whether you want to join me or not, but until that tail heals, you're my responsibility."

John nodded. "I'm afraid I'm missing something, what's the problem?"

"Well, this is Mycroft's ship, and I'm afraid his crew shares some of his thoughts towards..." He waved his hand in the merman's direction "So It's really not a good idea to leave you here while I'm on shore."

John laughed, propping himself up on his elbows. "Sherlock, how do you expect me to join you on shore? With this?" He flicked his tail against the sheets. "If you think you're going to cart me around in a wheelchair with a blanket or something.."

"No no no, John" Sherlock cut him off. He rubbed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How do I put this delicately... We need to _change_ you"

John stared at him. "Change me? Ho- oh no." He suddenly remembered Mycroft's abilities. "No, no no no, Sherlock, he hates me."

Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed. "I know, John, but this is the only way we can be sure of your safety."

"By letting him throw a spell at me?"

"Please, John, he won't hurt you. I promise I won't let that happen."

"And he's going to listen to you, is he?"

Sherlock paused, staring down at that shimmering tail "Yes, he will."

John looked down at his hands "How do you know that?"

"Because he's my brother" The two of them turned to see Mycroft standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.

Sherlock stared at him, swallowing a snarky remark in favor of a more polite approach "Will you help us, then?"

Mycroft sighed, walking slowly up to the side of the bed. "Sherlock, this is a very complicated issue. First of all, it's a temporary process, the effects only last about ten days. Secondly, even if I could make him human, which is going to be a bit tricky with that wound, you're going to have to teach him to walk, to act human. It's not an easy task."

"We're only going to be at dock until I can acquire a new ship, so it really doesn't matter if it's temporary, and John's smart, he'll be by my side the whole time" Sherlock stood up from the bed, leveling himself with his brother.

Mycroft rolled his eyes "It's not a matter of whether or not he'll obey you, it's the simple fact that this is something he's never done-"

"Mycroft! This is in the interest of John's safety, I need your help." Sherlock interrupted him, throwing his hands in the air."

"Can you please stop talking about me like I'm a dog?!" The brothers stopped their bickering and turned to the merman, who had moved himself into a sitting position. He stared at the two of them for a moment before bringing a hand to his face, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Look, Sherlock, this really isn't something I'm thrilled about doing, is there another way around it?"

"I'm sorry, John, but this is the only way to keep you safe while we're on shore."

Mycroft brushed at imaginary dust on his lapel. "He could just stay here."

Sherlock glared at him "I don't trust your crew"

He smiled to himself "Fair enough, though there is one man that I'm sure would have no problem keeping an eye on him while we discussed this." He ignored his brother's judging look. "He's a very honest man, and he's enthralled by fantastical creatures."

Sherlock stared at him, weighing his options. He _would_ have a much better chance at convincing Mycroft to change John if he talked to him alone, and it did appear as though the siren needed his rest. He could at least take a look at the man. "Call him in"

Mycroft smiled and turned to leave. Sherlock grabbed his coat and pulled it over his arms, popping the collar in his usual fashion. He looked down at John, who was now leaning back against the pillows again, eyes closed but not asleep. "Will you be alright without me?"

John sighed, looking up at the captain as he leaned over him. He really wasn't comfortable with the whole situation, but if it was the only option... "I'll be fine if this man is safe."

Sherlock forced a reassuring smile, which he was sure he saw right through. "I'll look him over myself, you're far too valuable to be put into any sort of danger."

A comfortable silence fell over the room as the two of them waited for Mycroft's return. John rested on his side with his back to Sherlock, who was sitting in an armchair and staring anxiously at the door. His eyes flickered to the merman's stretched out form, the gentle curve of his ribcage rising and falling as he danced on the edge of sleep. He really was beautiful. All his life, Sherlock had been told stories of the beauty of mermaids, how they lured sailors from their ships with their voice and body and carried them down into the ocean until they drowned. He'd asked Mycroft about mermen when he was younger, and was told that they were the opposite of mermaids, ugly and crude and built for battle. They were considered ever rarer than mermaids because they always hide beneath the surface. They're too hideous to attract sailors, so their only job was to hunt, fight, and reproduce.

But John disproved all of that. His shimmering tail, his lightly tanned skin, each fin swirling with an almost oil on water colouration. Sherlock sighed. He'd hate to see that tail go...

The door opened again and Sherlock looked up. Mycroft strode into the room, followed by a well dressed sailor with silvering hair. He stopped just inside of the doorway, trying his best to hide his fascination with the merman laying out on the bed. He was fast asleep by now.

Before any words were exchanged, Sherlock stood from his chair and inspected the sailor, circling him once and noting his sideways glances at John. _No gun, knife, weapon of any kind. Been a pirate for quite some time, probably since he was a boy. Had a strong interest in the mythological. Honest man, quite reliable. Kind but stern when need be. He wouldn't let any harm come to John_. Sherlock stood in front of him, eyeing him up and down one last time. "What's your name?"

The man looked steadily up at him. "Gregory Lestrade" He offered his hand to Sherlock, who promptly turned away to kneel by John's side, brushing a hair out of his face.

He addressed Lestrade. "He's had a rough few days and needs his rest, please try not to wake him."

Greg nodded "Aye, sir." He stood tall with a military posture, obviously trying to look worthy of watching over a merman.

Sherlock rose to his feet "Take care of him, then." And with that, he exited with his brother to discuss their plans for docking.

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John awoke around half an hour later, shifting about a bit as he opened his eyes. He rolled onto his back, wincing as a dull pain shot through his tail. "God, bloody hell..." He brought a hand to his head where a constant throbbing had started up. Must've been given pain relievers earlier and they were starting to wear off. He rubbed his eyes, straining to see against the afternoon sun pouring through the open window.

He jumped slightly as he noticed a figure to his right, staring in awe at him. He relaxed as he realized this must be the man Captain Mycroft was talking about, the one who was supposed to look after him. He looked about ready to jump out of his chair in excitement. John thought it best to stay quiet and pretend he wasn't there.

Obviously, the man had other plans "Hello." He said in an obnoxiously clear and slow voice. "I am Gregory Lestrade"

John rolled his eyes. The man sounded like he was talking to a toddler. "Yeah, and I can speak English, thank you." He propped himself up on his arms, looking Lestrade up and down. "Are you supposed to be taking care of me?"

Greg shut his mouth, obviously taken aback and slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry. I'm not exactly used to talking with mermen."

John smiled. It sounded like he had a good head on his shoulders, just a little nervous is all. "Well don't worry, mate. Sirens spend a good deal of time around humans so our cultures have been intertwined over the years."

The awed expression returned to Greg's face "You're a siren, then? Not just a merman, a real siren?"

John nodded. Wow, this guy was really into this stuff.

Lestrade grinned like a schoolgirl "A real, propor siren! Oh, fantastic! Do you sing? I mean, I know the girls do, the female sirens, but do the males?"

John suppressed a smile. The pounding in his head was getting stronger and it was starting to become painful. "Look, I'd be happy to answer your questions later, but you wouldn't happen to have any pain killers or anything on you?"

"Oh, sure. Captain Holmes left some with me here..." He shuffled about on the desk next to him, picking up a tray with a bottle of pills, three biscuits and a glass of water stacked neatly on top. "He also left some food, said you might be hungry."

John graciously accepted the tray, swallowing two pills and nibbling at one of the biscuits. Now that he thought about it, the reason he was so tired was probably because he hadn't eaten since the storm, and since merfolk had such a naturally high metabolism, his body had been compensating for the lack of fuel by getting as much sleep as possible, sort of like hibernation.

Lestrade returned to his chair, politely waiting until John had finished before speaking up again. "So can you sing? I mean, I'm sure you obviously could, but is it like the women, able to bring sailors to drown at sea? Can you sing the Siren's Song?"

John smiled, setting the tray aside. "I can sing, yes, it's a genetic inheritance. But I... the males of my species hardly ever need to, since the females usually do that for us."

"Have you ever drowned anyone?"

John hesitated in answering. Sirens sang to attract ships to wreck on the rocks so that they may scavenge the wreckage, that was their way of life. But of course, any sailors that survived the crash would have to be killed, otherwise they could return to take vengeance on them. That was their way of survival. He finally answered "No."

"No? You've never sang anyone to their deaths."

John shifted uncomfortably. Of course he had, it was a fact of his existence "No."

Thankfully, Lestrade decided to drop the subject. "Can I... can I see your tail, then?"

John nodded, flicking the blanket off to reveal the glimmering scales underneath, slowly regaining their previous luster before the splintering mast had nearly severed him down the middle.

Lestrade leaned forward in his chair, obviously restraining himself from jumping up and touching it. "Wow..."

John smiled slightly, shifting so that his tail fin hung over the side of the bed. "Go ahead, just be careful, please."

Greg hesitated, slowly reaching forward to stroke the dazzling scales. They felt weird, dry to the touch, not like a dried fish's tail, but almost like human skin. There was even a slight oily residue like that of a humans. And it was very smooth, even going the opposite direction. He brushed very lightly against the scales. "Is that irritating?"

John looked down at his hand. "What? Going the opposite way? No, only does when it's wet, but right now the scales are closed up tight to prevent moisture from escaping, so I really can't feel a thing."

Lestrade looked up at him. "So, your body reacts to you being out of water. Sort of like how a chameleon can change colour?"

John held back a snort. "Um, no, not really like that at all."

"Does anything else change?"

John nodded. "I can switch from breathing through my gills to breathing through my lungs. Binary respiratory system." He could see Lestrade battling with himself over whether or not to ask. He smiled, tilting his head sideways and gesturing towards the side of his neck. "Go on, take a look"

He bit back a smile, standing up to examine his neck. He could just barely see them, but translucent scales tightly covered a set of gills on either side of his throat, closed tight against his skin to create a smooth texture that could be easily passed off as nothing but skin. "Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating."

"Isn't he?" The two of them were caught off guard by the voice behind Greg. They looked up to see Sherlock leaning against the doorframe, arms folded casually across his chest.

John pulled away from Lestrade's examining hands, a small wave of embarrassment flowing over him "How long have you been standing there?"

Sherlock smirked, striding gracefully to the bedside. "Long enough"

Lestrade retreated to his chair "I was just asking him some questions, is all."

The captain glanced at him "I know, he's quite the interesting specimen"

"Hey!"

"Even I still have plenty to learn about him. But there are more important issues to be discussed at the moment" He sat at the foot of the bed, looking over John. "My brother and I have come to an agreement, now I just need your approval."

John shifted a little, moving so that he could face both Sherlock and Lestrade. "I... I don't know" His gaze shifted from one to the other, looking for a decision to be made for him. "I suppose it is necessary, but couldn't I easily stay here?"

"I told you, I don't trust Mycroft's crew." His eyes darted quickly to Lestrade's before returning to John's. It's not that he'd done anything wrong, but Sherlock had a general mistrust of everyone, and the fact that he was working under Mycroft's command made him even more suspicious of the man's intentions.

"Lestrade here can watch out for me"

"He can't be by your side all the time. And how well do you know him, anyway?" He glared at the sailor sitting silently in the corner "He doesn't even know your name."

This seemed to take him by surprise. "You've got a name?"

John stared at him in disbelief. "Of course I've got a name, it's John."

Lestrade stared down at his feet. "Sorry, I guess I just assumed that merfolk didn't have names or something..."

John stared at him silently for a while, then turned back to Sherlock. Lestrade didn't even think he had a name because he wasn't human. He grew more out of favor of the idea of staying. "Alright." He said finally. "I'll do it, but..." He turned to Lestrade again. "Greg comes with us."

Sherlock hesitated a moment, his calculating stare flicking from John to Lestrade. "Fine" and with that he walked to the door again, pausing on his way out. "I'll be back shortly, Lestrade, wait here until I return then go pack what you'll need for ten days at port."

Greg stood, raising a hand to his brow "Aye, sir"

The captain turned back to the siren. "Well, John, prepare to become human"

* * *

**There! You guys got 3 chapters in one day, and the freakin length of this one alone should keep y'all satisfied. I'm gonna go focus on Catlocked now, so don't expect any updates for a while. Thank you**

**On a side note, please ignore my odd spelling of words such as 'magick'**


	6. Human

**Hey guys! Not a terribly long one, and mostly filler sorry. Started school last week and I've been rushing to get everything done for sacanime this weekend. Anyone else going to the convention, see if you can find me there, cuz I'd absolutely _love_ to meet you!**

**As always, please point out any mistakes or inconsistancies you find, I greatly appreciate it!**

* * *

The blood rushed to his head as John sat up quickly, causing a throbbing pain to swell behind his eyes. He pressed his palm to his temple, groaning as he carefully lowered himself back onto the pillow. Wait a minute, pillow? When did he fall asleep? The last thing he remembered was starting Mycroft's spell changing thingy that was supposed to change him human. After that, well, there was just nothing. He woke up. Good Lord, his head hurt. He felt almost hungover. Hungover? What is that? Why did he know this word? He'd think about that later, right now he had to focus on adjusting his overly sensitive eyes to the bright room. Why was it so hard to adjust to the light? Nothing was making any sense...

He shrank back into the sheets as a door creaked open, instinctively covering his ears in a vain effort to block out the echoing squeal of rusty hinges bouncing around his head. He groaned silently, throwing his arm across his eyes as even more light flooded into the room. He felt like he was staring into the sun. Thankfully, the flash of brightness was short lived as a dark figure filed the doorway, closing the wooden porte behind him as he entered the room. John was grateful that the man's massive black wings blocked even more of the painful light as he stretched them protectively around the merman.

"Sherlock..." He could feel his voice crack as if he'd been screaming, although the pounding in his head made it a bit hard to even hear himself.

"How are you?" The Captain's pale face hovered over John, and he had to blink a few times before it became fully focused. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the pirate almost looked worried.

"Fine, I'm fine..." _My head..._He wasn't sure if he spoke the last two words or not, but nevertheless, Sherlock produced a bottle of pain medication from somewhere behind him, urging John to sit up as he offered them with a glass of water. John swallowed the pills eagerly, resting back against the headboard and closing his eyes, trying to keep the room from spinning.

He could see the light shift behind his eyelids as Sherlock moved, hearing his deep voice from somewhere across the room. "To be honest, I know little about this process, but I imagine the side effects are fairly severe. Do you need anything?"

John brought a hand to his eyes, rubbing gently at the burning sensation. "Too bright..." He muttered. "Too much light."

He could hear the Captain shifting about the room, pausing every now and then and the room seemed to gradually grow darker. John chanced opening his eyes again, and he was relieved to find a much more tolerable version of the blinding room he saw before. He could look around properly now, and after a moment recognized the white walls and expensive furnishings of Mycroft's chambers. So they were still on the ship then. "That's better." The pounding in his head was very slowly starting to recede thanks to the medication.

Sherlock smiled from his place beside the bed "Good, anything else?" He curled his wings back in, folding them neatly over each other as he leaned back into his chair.

John ran a hand through his hair, noting that his bandage from the night before was gone. Was it the night before? How long had he been out? Couldn't have been more than a day. He felt his sense of time twist around in his head as the low throbbing continued to drown out his thoughts.

Sherlock spoke up again when John didn't answer. "How do you feel? Any different? I mean, aside from the obvious."

_Obvious? _What did he mean, aside from the obvious? He tried piecing together his memories, only to have them shatter apart again once he was within reach. Mycroft. Had he done something to him? Why did he go below deck with him in the first... oh. "I.. don't remember anything." It wasn't a total lie, he really truly remembered nothing of the process, but he was suddenly afraid to remove the blankets.

Sherlock frowned. "What's the last thing you do remember?"

"Going below deck with Mycroft... You were carrying me, and what's his name.. Lestrade? He was there too..." He thought hard for a moment, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "That's it. There's nothing after that."

The two of them were silent for a moment, and John took the opportunity to glance at his hands. There was still webbing between the base of his fingers, and he was able to flick his third eyelid across his eye. He touched the side of his neck. Gills. So, he was still a merman?

"From the waist up, you're practically the same, any human portion of you has remained as it was." The pirate explained as he watched John's actions. "The more sea dweller aspects, though, have been removed. The enchantment was not to turn you into a human, just to make you appear human."

A quick shift against the headboard proved that Sherlock was telling the truth, as he could no longer feel his dorsal fin against his spine. He knew he should be freaking out, but his brain seemed to be telling his body that yes, this was in fact, normal. He took a steadying breath to prepare himself for what he would find once he drew back the sheets. In one careful motion, he pulled them away.

His long, rosy golden tail was no more. In it's place were a pair of legs, clad in silk pyjama bottoms. Ok. Now he should be freaking out.

"My tail..." He lifted his left leg experimentally, fascinated that it could move separately from the right.

"Gone" Sherlock muttered as he watched John's expression. He was having just a little bit of trouble with this, but thankfully, he was remaining calm.

John winced as he tried lifting the other leg, remembering the wound he'd received from the shipwreck. He pulled up the hem of his trousers, examining the skin. Flawless, not a scratch in sight, but the phantom pain remained. He suddenly recalled a snippet of conversation from the previous night, Mycroft telling him something about the nerve endings still being present in his brain. He decided it best to stop thinking as the pain in his head hissed angrily at him. He rested back against the headboard, rubbing at his eyes. "I can't remember any of it.."

"Apologies, there will be some memory loss in the beginning, but you'll regain it shortly." The two of them turned towards the door as Holmes the elder entered the room, looking as posh as ever, though a few cuts and bruises littered his face. He touched his cheek lightly "You were fairly uncooperative at first, but thankfully you calmed down towards the end."

John glanced back at Sherlock, and noticed that he too had a few claw marks along his jaw, though not nearly as many as his brother. "I did that?"

Sherlock nodded "Probably one of the reasons why you can't remember."

John furrowed his brow. "What? What does that mean?"

Mycroft stepped forward again, catching John's gaze. "Well, I believe I'm safe to assume that the process is rather painful. It must've triggered some natural fight instinct within you and, well you..." He paused for a moment to glance at Sherlock, as if asking for permission "... You crossed the line between human and animal."

It took a moment for it to all sink in, but John eventually understood what had probably occurred last night. Most likely, the combination of magick and pain had caused him to black out and rely entirely on natural instinct, which would be to fight off his attackers. "Sorry 'bout that."

Mycroft chuckled, taking a seat near the foot of the bed. "It's quite alright, I should've expected as much."

An awkward silence settled over the room as John glanced between the brothers, Sherlock glaring at Mycroft and the latter examining his manicured nails. He pushed the sheets further back, swinging his newfound legs over the side of the bed. The two watched him silently as he examined the new joints, running his hands over the fabric covering his thighs, wiggling his toes experimentally. He reached them down towards the floor, pushing off the bed as his feet reached the cold wood. He stood a bit unevenly, leaning his weight on his left leg to relieve the injured one.

Suddenly, Sherlock was at his right side, pulling his arm around his shoulder to support half his weight. It was a bit awkward, now that John was a good head shorter than the pirate, but he took a confident step forward nonetheless.

Mycroft watched with an aloof interest as John made his way around the room, leaning slightly on his brother for support every now and then. After a minute or two, the merman turned human glanced up in his direction, a question clearly forming in his mind. Mycroft answered before the first word left his lips. "I've installed a basic knowledge of the average adult male into your mind, which is why you know how to walk." Sherlock cast a quick glare at him and he shrugged innocently, turning back to examine the ring on his right hand. "I figured it'd be useful once you're at port."

John raised his eyebrow in mild surprise. He hadn't expected the elder Holmes to be so generous, seeing as he wasn't exactly the man's favourite mythological creature. Still, it was nice to know that he wouldn't have to ask his companion about every little thing they came across. And that would explain why he knew what a hangover was.

His thought process was cut off as Mycroft rose from the foot of the bed, striding towards the door. "Although, if you're constantly hanging onto my brother like that, you're sure to draw attention to yourselves. And I don't know about you, Sherlock, but if I was a wanted criminal with a merman companion, human attention would be the last thing I'd desire." He disappeared out of the room before either of them could retort.

John looked up at his support. "Wanted criminal?"

Sherlock suppressed a mocking retort at his companion's expense "Of course, John, I'm a pirate, an outlaw, an enemy to the Queen. I've raided and cheated and stolen and murdered. I was bound to have a not so good label placed on me eventually."

John sighed, moving to sit down on the foot of the bed, hanging off of Sherlock's arm as he helped him onto the mattress. "So this is really happening, yes? I'm not just dreaming?"

The smallest of smiles crossed the bow of the pirates lips "No, John, it might all be a lot to take in in one sitting, but you are most definitely not dreaming." He spread a black wing comfortingly around the merman's shoulder as he took a seat beside him. "If it was a dream, would you be able to feel that pain in your leg?"

John brought a hand to his head, mumbling to himself "I don't even know anymore...", though he was sure the half-bred could hear him.

Sherlock sighed, nudging him gently with his wing to lean on his shoulder. "Don't worry, most of your memories will return eventually, and you'll get used to walking sooner than you think."

John snorted, rubbing at his eyes. "Most.. eventually.. these aren't very sure things, Sherlock. What if I don't remember, and what if I don't get the hang of walking, and what if something goes wrong, and I'm a human forever.." He trailed off as he realized he was rambling.

The pirate looked down at him questioningly "You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"How would you know, you're not human." John sulked, leaning heavily into Sherlock's arms.

"Well, I guess that makes two of us, then."

A comfortable silence fell over the room as the two of them contemplated their situation, and just what exactly they would be going up against once at port. Two mythological creatures in a world of human's. John wondered briefly if there was anyone else out there in their situation, hiding in plain sight, disguising themselves as a part of the human race. What would be their next move? Would they hide for a while, or would they start out right away, searching for a new ship and crew? According to Mycroft, they only had ten days, so Sherlock would probably want to get started right away. How far away were they from port, anyway? Couldn't be more than a day, otherwise the elder Holmes would've waited on the transformation. Oh God, it was a lot to take in...

The two of them broke apart as the door opened again, and the silver haired fellow from before, Lestrade, entered the room with a walking cane in hand. "Captain said you'd be needing this." He held the stick out to John, who took it hesitantly. He searched his newfound knowledge for what exactly he was to do with it. Something to assist him with walking, obviously, but he wasn't entirely sure how to use it.

As if reading his thoughts, Sherlock spoke up. "You hold it on the opposite side of the injured leg, to keep your weight off of it." He gently pulled the merman to his feet again.

John gripped the cane in his left hand, leaning on it heavily as he took a few steps. It definitely relieved most of the pain in his leg, but now the bullet wound was searing with every movement. He leaned up against one of the walls, clutching at his shoulder "That might not work too well." He confessed.

Sherlock nodded understandingly, folding his wings back into place with an overly showy flourish, most likely for Lestrade's benefit, as the man was simply fascinated with them. "Try the other hand, then. It won't be as effective at removing the pain, but it'll keep you upright."

John switched hands and took a few more steps. This way was definitely more effective, if not a bit awkward. Oh well, he'd just have to get used to it.

Lestrade cleared his throat, looking from one to the other. "The Captain has told me to inform you that we will be docking later today. The sun will have set by the time we reach port, but he still insists that his brother change into something a little less... extravagant." He set down a folded up trench coat on the sofa next to him. It was the same navy blue as his usual coat, but without the pirate flare. Sherlock's had royal blue buttons down the sides and a gaudy gold trim and lining, not to mention the ridiculously decorated collar he always kept popped up against his neck. This one was just a very dark blue, very unassuming, very _normal_.

Sherlock picked up the coat, examining it from every angle before throwing it over his shoulders, hiding his wings beneath it's fabric. He looked very normal, like he'd never once dabbled in the art of piracy. Or at least his top half did. If his ridiculous coat didn't give away his trade, then his equally ridiculous boots did. Fine leather and high heeled, fitted with gold buttons just for show.

Lestrade quickly picked up on this, turning to leave again with a comment of "I'll see if Mycroft can fix those shoes..." over his shoulder. And the two were left alone in the room again, Sherlock turning this way and that to view every angle of himself in his new coat, and John watching with amusement from a chair on the far side of the room.

* * *

Not five minutes later found the pair on deck, with Sherlock looking a tad bit out of place amongst the pirate crew and john blinking up at the sun which he felt had been years since he'd last seen. All of this, his kidnapping, the shipwreck, being washed up on shore with a half-bred and now back out at sea without a tail, it had all taken place within a few short weeks. Yet he felt like he'd known the man beside him for half a lifetime. And now they were to start another adventure on land. Would he run if he had the opportunity? There'd be no place for him to go. Technically, he was still Sherlock's prisoner, though he no longer felt the need to escape

Sherlock breathed in deeply, running his hand through his hair as the salty spray plastered his dark curls to his skin, brushing over the bandage that still wrapped around his head. He looked fairly beaten up, what with the multitude of dressings and the claw marks along his jaw. He remembered last night perfectly, but he decided it best that John's memory return to him slowly. His brain was probably blocking it out now, marking it as a traumatic experience, not to be brought to light again.

He could see port far off in the distance, just barely peeking over the horizon. The sun was setting behind them, silhouetting the ship to the views of the land dwellers. It would be gone before they were halfway there, leaving them shrouded in nightfall by the time they reached the dock. It would be a nice cover for a while, letting them enter civilization without much hassle. Mycroft was a lot more subtle than his brother, mostly working behind the scenes and his ship was therefore not as recognizable as the Deduction had been. It should be a flawless getaway.

Sherlock looked down at his companion, who was gazing over the side of the ship, watching the surf crash against the hull. "Feeling homesick?" It was more of a courtesy question than one of actual concern.

A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of the merman's lips. "No. Not for a long time." He glanced up as the sun just starting to dip into the ocean, spreading its warm colours out into the water and shooting them through the sky above. Everything looked to be on fire, and John shuddered at the thought. Fire. He hated fire.

A flicker of a very recent memory passed before his eyes, sending a tremor through his spine. But it was gone before he could fully grasp it, so he just glanced back up at the former Captain, who was looking straight ahead, out over the subtly crashing waves towards the port that was to be their home for the next ten days.

And he had a feeling it was going to be a very long ten days.


	7. Two Days

**Sorry for the wait, guys, settling into college life, recovering from anime conventions and turning 18 and all. Anyway, incredibly short chapter that I kinda rushed through, but I wanted to give you guys something to prove I'm not dead.**

**Now comes the bad news. First of all, this will be the last chapter for a while, as I'm gonna go finish up Catlocked before I do anything else. And second, I feel I need to specify that there is no JohnLock in this story. I know, I know, I'm a fan too, but trust me, I am no good at writing romance. You want proof, go read Catlocked. Seriously, no good. However, I might be willing to put a gag Johnlock chapter at the end if y'all manage to persuade me ;)**

**Anyway, thanks for putting up with the wait, enjoy!**

* * *

John almost choked on the rush of dry air filling his lungs as he awoke from his dream. No, nightmare would be a more suitable word choice there. He blinked rapidly, sweeping his clear eyelid over his eyes out of habit, making them glint in the dark that was still blanketing the room. He sighed heavily and leaned back against the pillow, trailing a hand over his dry gills as he tried to recall the dream. _Burning... Something burning. But it wasn't bright, not like fire.. It just felt... hot, like his scales were being burned from his tail. _The memory vanished again before he could grasp anything more. He shifted his legs under the tangle of sheets, still a little weirded out by the fact that they moved independantly of each other.

He looked around the room. A hotel room, that's right, they were staying in a hotel room. He brought his knees to his chest and examined his feet as he thought back to the previous night. The Minor Position had arrived at dock at approximately 10 o'clock, according to Mycroft, John still wasn't entirely familiar with the modern ways of timekeeping, with hours and minutes and seconds and such. Gave him a bit of a headache to try and understand it all.

The crew basically vanished as they reached the docks, only a few left on board, but now dressed in very unassuming clothes, disguised as fishermen. Even Holmes the elder had relinquished his pirate garb for a skippers uniform. Everything went smoothly, and Sherlock and John, accompanied by Lestrade, were able to melt into the thinning crowds surrounding the port, passing a polite nod of gratitude towards the Captain.

And then they were out on the streets, catching a ride through town on a horse drawn cab. Sherlock stared out the window as John and Lestrade sat in silence across from each other, both slightly giddy from their escape. Sherlock had stopped the driver at a very normal looking Inn, somewhere in the middle of town, John assumed, judging by the amount of time they'd been traveling. Sherlock and John hopped out immediately, leaving Lestrade to pay the fare. He caught up with them at the registration desk.

"Hey, I don't know how long you've been out at sea, but there are some things that need to be paid for." Greg scolded under his breath.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "I don't think I've ever had to pay for anything in my life."

"Well, you've never exactly been a fugitive before." He grabbed the pirate's hand and deposited some cash into his palm. "There, that's enough for two night's here."

"Why do we need two-" The answer hit him before he finished his sentence. He glanced at John briefly, who was standing against the far wall, watching the two of them, before exchanging the money for a room key.

John looked around the room again, spotting the key on the table by the door. _What do we need two nights here for? We're on a tight schedule as it is.. _Something stopped his train of thought. A voice in his head. Oh god, was he going insane? No, it wasn't a voice, it was a memory of a voice. A very broken memory of Mycroft's voice. _... approximately two more days to recover... seven days left to find... _Was he talking about John? Recover from what? He's already perfectly capable of walking around like a human, albeit a bit lopsided. His head started throbbing again as the memory echoed around his skull. _Burning... burning and two days.. two days to recover.. from the burning? _None of it was making any sense.

The door opened quietly, spilling light from the hallway into the room. John raised a hand against it, groaning loudly in protest.

"Oh good, you're awake." Sherlock's voice came from the doorway. John chanced a look, and saw that both the pirate and Lestrade were entering the room, the latter carrying two cups of something.

He made his way round to John's bed and handed him one while sipping carefully from the other. "Careful, it's hot"

John grasped it gingerly, feeling the heat through the ceramic mug. "What is it?"

"Tea." He replied, taking a seat at the table and setting his own cup down. "Got it in the lobby. Figured coffee might be too strong."

John looked down into the steaming liquid, testing the temperature gingerly with his tongue. Not incredibly hot. He took a small sip, letting the fragrance overcome his senses. Wow, that was _good_. He smiled and sighed happily.

"Oh, right, I keep forgetting to ask." Sherlock suddenly appeared by his side. "Are you cold blooded?"

John furrowed his brow "Am I... what?"

"Cold blooded. Does your core body temperature vary with your surroundings or are you able to keep it constant?"

"Umm, I guess the former. I've never heard the term, though." He glanced at Lestrade, who sighed and looked back at Sherlock.

"Is this really the time, we do have a theft to plan."

"Well it's not like we'll be doing much until John recovers, might as well get the little questions out of the way."

"Whoa, hold up." John held up his free hand to cut the two off. "I have question's too. One, recover from what? And two, what theft?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "Do keep up John, we can't stay here forever, we need to get back out to sea, and in order to do that, we need a ship. Now, Lestrade here and I were just out-"

"Yes, alright, fine" John cut him off again. "Now answer the first question please."

Lestrade gave a warning glare at Sherlock, but of course, he ignored him. "You need to recover from the memories of when you were..." He gestured towards his legs "Turned mobile."

John set his tea down on the end table by the bed. "Ok, but I don't have any memories of that night."

"Of course not, you're blocking them out. But we need to retrieve them sooner rather than later, so that they don't make an untimely comeback in the middle of a dire situation."

"And I need two days to remember everything?"

Lestrade spoke up now "Once you remember everything, you'll need some time to recover from the shock of it all. Mycroft figured two days would be an efficient amount of time to do both."

"How did you know it would take two days?" Lestrade and John both looked back to Sherlock, who was now staring down at the merman. "No one said anything about two days."

John cleared his throat. "Mycroft said it would take two days for me to recover..." He stopped as the full memory flashed through his mind. _It will take him approximately two more days to recover the memories of tonight and to sort them out properly, that leaves you with seven days left to find yourselves a ship before the enchantment wears off.._

A smile pulled across Sherlock's lips as the merman fell silent "Good, you're already starting to remember."


	8. Burning

**Hey guys, so sorry for the wait, but college has been a bitch lately and I needed some time off of stressing about fics. Anyway, I'm sorry to say that updates will probably be coming less often, as I've started work on a couple original stories that I do hope to publish someday. And sorry about the quality of this chapter (And the fact that it's mostly filler) I wrote it really quickly and without much regard to the plot. It's mostly just to inform you all that I'm still alive. So please enjoy, don't get too mad at me, and as always, please alert me to any mistakes you find. Thank you, much love.**

* * *

The smooth glass felt cool against his skin as John pressed his palm to the shoppe window, gazing curiously at the nautical oddities on the other side. It was strange, being busy about town. It was about midday now, a time when merfolk would normally be out on the rocks sunning themselves, waiting for the heat of the day to subside a little before they'd begin the hunts. He remembered being anxious at midday, always looking for something to do while his family rested, he could never sit still. Well, at least he'll never have that problem again. Things never seemed to stop on land. Everywhere he looked humans were hurrying back and forth, flagging down horse drawn cabs, rushing in and out of shops. And they all wore such extravagant clothing, to the point of looking uncomfortable. So many layers and patterns, he felt almost naked in his simple trousers and button down shirt.

Which was why they were out in the first place, of course. Sherlock was still back at the hotel room, planning their escape, but he and Lestrade were out shopping for a few necessities, like clothes.

"John?" Lestrade called over his shoulder. The merman managed to pull himself away from the glittering curios behind the window and continued following him down the street, still leaning heavily on his cane. There was just so much to take in, he feared he would miss something if he moved too fast.

They made their way to a small second hand shoppe around a corner, tucked away between a bookstore and a haberdashery. John smiled at the tinkling sound the bell made as they opened the door, stepping into the dimly lit room that smelled strongly of dust and shoe polish. The manager looked up from behind his desk in the corner as the pair walked in, regarding them briefly before turning back to his newspaper, obviously not intending to offer any assistance.

Lestrade plucked a coat off the rack, examining it briefly before replacing it and taking down another. "Have a look around, John, see if anything strikes your fancy."

The merman nodded, self consciously rubbing at his neck as he wandered through the small store. He couldn't shake the constant paranoia that someone would see past the disguise, and they would be sent out on the run again. He glanced at the storekeeper again. He just sat behind the counter, leaning on one arm as he skimmed over a book in his hand. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about him. He was idly sifting through a selection of trousers when Greg approached him again, a couple of vests slung over one arm and a shirt and coat in the other. "Come try some of these on, we haven't got all day."

By the end of said day, John figured he looked rather dapper. They'd ended up purchasing a couple more shirts as well as a formal and casual jacket (Important to take any situation into account), a few vests, and another pair of trousers. It wasn't much, but they weren't really planning anything very long term anyway.

John tugged idly at his new brace strap as he limped alongside Lestrade back to the hotel. "How long are we planning to stay here again?"

Lestrade contemplated for a moment, counting the days in his head "Well, this is our first day here, hopefully you'll regain your memories by tonight, that'll give you one more day to recover... After that it just depends on how long it'll take for Sherlock to come up with a plan to set sail again."

John nodded. Right, the memories. He could feel them lurking in the dark recesses of his mind, swimming about just out of reach. And when he urged them to come closer, all he got was an intense burning sensation and the restored drawl of Mycroft's voice. '_It will take him approximately two more days to recover the memories of tonight and to sort them out properly, that leaves you with seven days left to find yourselves a ship before the enchantment wears off..' _ Right then, he had to regain the rest by tonight.

They walked in silence for a while longer, John gazing about him at the overwhelming amount of sights and sounds, trying to ignore Lestrade's not-so-discreet glances at his gills and eyes. The man was curious about him, he could understand that, but he wasn't sure he liked the feeling of being examined, of being watched...

The memory hit him like a stone against his head, and he staggered and slipped down to the pavement. Greg was by his side in an instant, but John couldn't see him anymore. The burning was back, white hot across his entire body. He could remember writhing in pain, screaming and thrashing against his restraints as the fire surged through him, crying for mercy, pleading for help. But no one came to his aid.

The three of them just stood there, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Sherlock, watching him, observing his reactions and stepping back every now and then as he lashed out towards them. Slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, he felt the pain recede and the black edges of the memory began to seep through the border of his vision. He blinked a few times and slowly the real world came back to him, bright and hazy and nothing as pleasant as it was a minute ago.

Greg was sat beside him, muttering soothing words as his shuddering ceased. He brought a hand to his face, feeling the last of the flames of heat nip lightly at his extremities before disappearing altogether. He stood shakily with the help of Greg at his left arm and the cane at his right. If that's what all the memories were going to feel like, then this was going to be a long day.

"... John?" Greg's voice echoed through his ears, and John shook his head once to subdue the biting throbbing behind his eyes. "John, are you alright? What happened?"

"I'm fine, yeah, just... got hit with a memory, is all." He glanced around, waiting for his surroundings to come into focus. A few women on the other side of the street were staring at them, but continued on their way as soon as he met their eyes. Apparently no one else had noticed his little episode. That's good, didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. He leaned heavily on Greg's shoulder as they continued on their way down the street.

000

Sherlock sat by the window when Lestrade and John arrived back at the hotel, hands clasped by his lips and wings relaxed behind him, flaring out in a black shimmering mass to fill his corner of the room. He glanced up at them as the door opened, regarding them briefly before turning back to the window. "What have you remembered, John?"

The merman turned to stare at him, always a little perplexed by his seemingly infinite knowledge, but too exhausted to bother asking how he figured that one out. "Yeah, not much, just a... sensation is all." He looked to Greg for help.

Lestrade shrugged, turning to look at Sherlock. "Says he remembered feeling fire, like, a burning sensation taking over his body."

"Is that it?"

John nodded "Yeah."

Sherlock scowled out the window, dark feathers whirling about as he swiftly stood, settling his wings neatly against his back as he set about pacing the small room. "That's not enough, it's nearly dusk, and you still have more to remember. We need to speed the process along."

Lestrade stepped forward, holding up his hand in hesitation. "Hang on, wouldn't that be a bit, I dunno, dangerous? Shouldn't John deal with them in his own time and not force the memories to resurface?"

Sherlock sighed pointedly, stopping his pacing to roll his eyes at the greying man now in front of him. "Please, Lestrade, I'm sure it's perfectly safe. He's already remembered most of it, we only need to tell him the rest."

"But Mycroft said..."

"Damn it, Lestrade, my brothers orders are not above me, do you understand?" Sherlock nearly shouted at the older man, flourishing his wings a bit as he did. He was obviously annoyed at the implication that he was a lesser man than the elder Captain.

John decided to speak up "Is that all we would have to do? Just talk? No more spells or anything, right?"

Sherlock glanced over at him, seemingly having forgotten for a moment that he was in the room. "Yes"

"Do I have a say in this?"

"No."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, giving up finally as he slumped down in the chair that was previously occupied by the half-bred. John took a shaky breath, still uncertain about uncovering more painful memories but at the same time, he knew it had to be done. He took a seat next to Greg, beckoning Sherlock to come join them in the third chair. "Lets get this over with, then."


	9. Remember

**Hello everybody, I'm back!**

**Anyway, very very very sorry for the long wait and the short chapter. To be honest, I was contemplating canceling this fic for a while, but I'm almost half way through, so I think I'll stick with it til the end, though that may mean long breaks in between chapters. So, sorry for the wait, hope you enjoy this chapter, and hopefully I'll get another one up soon!**

* * *

John awoke the next morning with a searing pain behind his eyes, as well as a head full of memories that hadn't been there a day ago. That felt strange. With the help of Sherlock and Lestrade, they were able to recover everything, though it was much easier said than done. He pulled the covers back and slid out of bed, standing on shaking legs that still felt foreign to him and catching his reflection in the still dark window.

He focused on his face staring back at him, mapping out every line and scar that he'd never been able to see so clearly. He brought a hand through his hair, noting the graying patch near the front. The pounding in his head increased a bit and he felt a wave of nausea as the recovered memories came to the front of his mind. He could still feel the fire as he recalled them...

* * *

"John! John, listen to me, focus on my voice, only my voice, I'm right here." Sherlock grasped the merman's hand, ignoring the long claws digging into his skin.

John could barely hear him as he thrashed about on the wooden floor of the ship's deck, long tail lashing out to strike whatever he could, trying to find a release for the endless burning sensation crawling over his scales. It felt like he was being split in two by a molten knife.

Mycroft stood nearby, reciting the spell over and over, and with each pause the pain grew worse, until John couldn't stand it anymore, and his animal instincts took over for him.

He tore himself out of Sherlock's grasp, snarling fiercely as he swiped at the elder Holmes, who took a couple steps back, holding out his arms to shield himself. John managed to tear a long stripe down his forearm, and the blood that wept forth only spurred him on.

"Sherlock, restrain him!" Mycroft spat at his brother, pausing his incantations for a moment to do so. In that instant, John felt the pain recede a fraction, as though the flames that engulfed his body had been sprinkled with water, Cool, sweet, good water.

But the burning returned as soon as Mycroft continued with the wretched words. It didn't take long for John's animal state of mind to make the connection. Talking Mycroft was pain, silent Mycroft was relief. Make Mycroft silent.

He lunged forward again just as Sherlock wrapped his arms around his waist, holding him back so that John clawed at thin air. How dare he! He twisted about sharply to scratch at Sherlock's face, raking his claws across his sharp cheekbone, leaving glistening red streaks behind.

Sherlock flinched back, though his hold on the merman didn't slacken. He unfolded his wings, holding them out for balance as he struggled against Johns flailing. He could feel the blood dripping down his cheek and tasted the warm liquid on his lips. John hissed menacingly at him, twisting and thrashing about, trying to free himself.

The burning was too much, he could see the edges of his vision slowly blacken as the fire traveled up his spine, burning his flesh off to the bone. He could feel his blood boiling as it spilled over the surface of his tail, which was literally beginning to tear in two. He couldn't hear anything anymore over the rushing of blood in his ears, couldn't feel Sherlock's steadying arms around him anymore through the raging fire, and the two figures around him were indistinguishable blurs.

Finally, he felt his body betray him, growing weak and aching for the cool relief of the ocean he knew once upon a time, before he was abducted into this insanity. His vision blurred and he felt a bout of nausea as the deck fell sideways to meet his collapsed form, dragging him down out of Sherlock's arms where he fell sprawled across the wooden planks, seeking some sort of relief from their cool surfaces. He struggled to keep his grip on reality, fighting to move his limbs as the two figures moved to stand over him. He saw the black wings spread out to the sides of his vision, darkening the already benighted sky until his sight went black.

He regained his hearing for a moment, however, as his blood calmed down, and he was able to distinguish Mycroft's voice. "Well, I can't imagine that was pleasant for him. Sherlock, you have ten days until the effects of the spell diminish, hopefully the return transformation will be less painful. It will take him approximately two more days to recover the memories of tonight and to sort them out properly, that leaves you with seven days left to find yourselves a ship before the enchantment wears off. Be sure to find shelter quickly and don't forget to feed yourself. And Sherlock, please be careful."

John didn't hear Sherlock's reply as he lost his grasp on consciousness.


	10. Reunion

**Well I felt so bad about taking so long on the last chapter and not really delivering on it in the end that I sat down and dedicated half my day to this one. Hope it makes up for the wait on the last chapter, please enjoy!**

**Also, this is officially the most chapters I have written for a fanfiction, and the fun's just getting started :D**

* * *

Lestrade stepped up behind the merman, placing a strong hand on his shoulder. "John? Are you alright?"

John jumped slightly at the contact, turning to face him. "I'll be fine, yeah. Still just trying to cope with the new memories, that's all."

Lestrade nodded his understanding. "Do you want to, i dunno..." He drew a hand awkwardly through his silver hair. "Talk about it?"

John stared at him a moment. "Is that normal human custom? To talk about one's troubling thoughts and emotions?"

Lestrade shrugged, moving back to sit at the edge of John's bed. "It's what women do, but I think we could do it too." He smiled to show that he was halfway sarcastic.

John smiled back, joining him on the bed and leaning back against the headboard. "Merfolk don't do that, it's considered a bad form to confess a weak emotional state."

"Yeah, well no offence, but your kind is starting to sound a bit barbaric."

"None taken." John laughed lightly. "But to be fair, you lot aren't far from savages either."

"What, humans?"

"Pirates."

"Ah." Lestrade shifted so that he was sitting at the foot of the bed, facing John. "So, do you want to talk, or..."

John gave him a knowing look. "I have a feeling 'talking about it' will cause more discomfort than I'm presently experiencing." He took the following awkward silence to look around the room. It was still dark out, but a few early rays of light illuminated the place enough to get a basic sense of things, and there was a certain black winged thing missing. "Where's Sherlock?"

Lestrade shrugged. "He was gone when I woke up, I'd assume he's out looking for a ship."

John arched an eyebrow "Oh right, the theft, I nearly forgot about that." John's transformation would only last another, what, 7, 8 days? They needed to be out at sea when that happened, carrying a merman around town would get tedious. Plus, Sherlock needed a ship, and what better way to obtain a new ship than to steal one... Actually, there were loads of better ways, but this one was the fastest. Something was still prodding at the back of his mind though. "Um, Greg..."

"Hm?"

"Once this is all over, and we're out at sea again, what're we going to do?"

Lestrade threw him a puzzled look. "How d'you mean?"

John played absently with the hem of his nightshirt. "Well I guess a better question would be, what do you plan to do, you and Sherlock, with me? I mean, I was Sherlock's prisoner, basically, and after this whole ordeal... well, what'll happen to me?"

Lestrade thought for a moment, furrowing his brows together in obvious concentration. "I dunno. I suppose it's up to Captain Holmes."

John rubbed at his eyes. "I suppose so."

As if on cue, the key turned swiftly in the lock at the other end of the room and Sherlock swept in, coat snapping out behind him dramatically as it must have been manufactured for. "Ah, good, you're both up, I think I've found something."

The two of them turned their attention to the captain as he marched over, choosing to lean against the wall instead of joining them on the bed. Good thing, too, Sherlock never held any regard for personal space, but all three of them on one bed would have been a little more than awkward. Lestrade speaks up first. "And what is it you've found?"

Sherlock smiles, shrugging off his coat and throwing it over a nearby chair, taking a moment to stretch his wings. "I found a ship, obviously, absolutely brand new, hasn't even set sail yet. I believe they finished work on it two days ago, lucky us. It hasn't been sold to anyone yet as far as I can tell, so that should make taking it a bit easier, but it's due to be auctioned in 7 days. Luckily for us, again, that's exactly when we'll need to be gone."

"Where is it?"

"It's docked at Baker's Bay, not too far from here. I actually know the owner of that area, and she owes me a favour."

John smiled. "Well this is just a day full of luck, isn't it?"

"Yes it is. There's only one problem now."

"What's that?" Lestrade and John chorused.

"We need to find a way to steal a ship with three people."

Lestrade chuckled. "That is a bit of a problem, isn't it." John nodded in agreement. "Well we've got six days to figure it out, I'm sure it'll be fine."

* * *

"Why are we here again?" John questioned as he and Lestrade stood in front of a shady looking inn on the other side of town.

"Because this is our last night on land, and our inn doesn't have a bar." Lestrade clapped him on the back.

"And why couldn't we tell Sherlock?" John was starting to feel nervous. Sherlock had become something of an older brother to him over the last three days of plotting and schemes to steal the ship, and he didn't feel right doing something outside of his knowledge. Which, come to think of it, was almost impossible to do, he probably knew exactly where they were. But still, it felt weird.

"Because Captain Holmes is busy and I don't feel up to disturbing him, do you?" John shook his head. "Right then, c'mon."

Lestrade pulled him up the steps and casually walked through the door. The bar was in clear sight just on the other side of the lobby, and Lestrade practically dragged John by the hand. John stumbled to keep up with him, and was silently thankful that the pain in his leg had subsided enough to allow him to walk unaided.

John had to resist the urge to cover his nose as they walked through the door. He'd never smelled alcohol before, and the strong odor hit his delicate senses like a slap in the face. Lestrade dragged him over to an open booth (Seeing as the actual bar would've probably killed John) and flagged a waitress over. She was scantily dressed in a tight corset and a low cut blouse and John couldn't help but awe at the fact that she hadn't fallen out of her dress yet. "What can I get you boys?"

Lestrade ordered for the both of them, though John didn't hear. He was too busy looking around at the other patrons, some of which were already falling out of their seats drunk, and others looking sombre and wallowing in self pity. He decided then and there that he wasn't that big of a fan of bars.

Lestrade waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention. "Sorry, what?" John turned back to him.

"I said what d'you think?" Lestrade leaned on the table between them.

But John wasn't listening again, someone at the bar caught his eye. She wasn't exactly tall, but her slim features and dark hair pulled up in an intricate bun made her look as elegant as Sherlock. She wore bright red lipstick and had sharp, blue eyes, which searched the room tirelessly, but thankfully hadn't spotted him yet. He recognised her. But from where?

"Miss Adler." The woman turned and smiled as a tall blond man approached her. This one he'd definitely seen before, though the location still eluded him. He wore a tattered black vest over a dirty white shirt and a blood red sash about his waist. He was definitely a pirate, wasn't even trying to hide it, though John doubted anyone would even dare to confront a man of that build.

"John!"

"Hm?" He turned back to Lestrade again, who had fixed him with a puzzled expression.

"What are you looking at?"

John nodded toward the pair at the bar "Do you see that woman in the dark red dress with the black leather corset? The one next to the tall blond man."

"Yeah."

"Do you recognise either of them?"

Lestrade furrowed his brow, looking the two of them over intently "No, why? Do you?"

John shook his head. "They look really familiar, but I don't remember where fro..." he was cut off as a third man entered the scene, this one he definitely knew. He was about the height of the woman, with slick black hair and dark eyes that watched everyone like they were his prey. He knew that face, he'd been subjected to that gaze before.

_Moriarty_

_Moriarty and Moran_. He hadn't been able to place just one of them, but he remembered them as a pair. They were the two that guarded him while he was held prisoner on the Deduction. And that woman, Adler, she was on the ship too! He felt something twist in his stomach.

He turned back to Lestrade, voice dropped to a whisper. "Those three, the woman, the blond, and the dark haired man, they were on Sherlock's ship."

Lestrade shot him a skeptical look. "That's not possible. No one could've survived that storm, the only reason you two did is because neither of you is exactly _human_"

It took a second for the pieces to click in John's brain, but click they did. "You're right, no _human _could've survived that wreck."

"So what're you saying?"

"What if they're not human?"

An eery silence fell over their table as Lestrade took in what John had just said. It wasn't entirely impossible, Sherlock had hidden his giant black wings from the rest of his crew, someone else could've done the same. Lestrade finally snapped out of his shock "Wait a minute, they look human."

John shrugged. "Yeah, and so do I."

Lestrade frowned. "What, you think they have a spell over them."

John furrowed his brow. "Maybe, but that seems improbable since they look exactly the same as they did on the ship, and a spell like that isn't one you'd want cast on yourself over and over."

Lestrade gave him a pitying look. "Right, so not a spell. Then why do they look human?"

John thought about that a moment. "Sherlock looks human."

Lestrade shook his head. "No way, do you know how rare Half-breds are? I think it's highly unlikely that two of them would have resided on the same ship."

"Highly unlikely, but not impossible."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, gesturing subtly towards the trio. "I don't believe it, Half-breds always have something that sets them apart from us, they don't look _completely human_."

John shrugged again, toying with a knife on the table. "I don't know, ok? All I know is that those three were on Sherlock's ship, and they should have died, but here they are, clear as day."

Lestrade ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. "You're sure they were on the ship? What're their names?"

"Moran, Adler, and Moriarty." John recited. "And they all know me, too. What if they see me? What'll they do?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

John sighed, looking down at his hands. His transformation hadn't been total, and he could still feel the slight webbing between his fingers and the sharp nail like claws. It felt like so long ago now that he'd been his true self, but it'd only been, what, 6 days? He looked back up at Lestrade. "Could you go listen to them?"

"What?"

"They don't know you, you could go up to the bar and listen in on what they're talking about." John explained.

"Why would I do that?"

"Well..." John hesitated. "Either they're here looking for Sherlock or something, and we could help them out, or they're up to something bad, and I have a horrible feeling that it might be the latter. Please?" John pleaded, flashing his saddest blue eyes up at Greg.

Lestrade groaned, rubbing at his face. "Alright, fine, but only for a minute or two."

John smiled at him as he left. He grabbed a spot a couple seats down from them and ordered himself a drink, trying his hardest to look casual. John saw them glance his way for a moment, but thankfully disregarded him as another random sailor trying to drown in his drink. He was gone a while longer than a couple minutes, which John couldn't decide if that was good or not. What he didn't like, though, is how obviously disturbed he was starting to look. Finally, five minutes later, the trio left and Lestrade returned to the table, chewing nervously on his lip. "C'mon, lets go."

John complied, checking around to make sure they were gone before following Lestrade back out the door. Neither spoke a word until they were back on the street again, where they stopped for a moment to breath in the fresh air. It was nearly pitch black out.

John waited a moment before prodding Lestrade's side. "What did you hear?"

Lestrade wiped at his mouth before replying, running his hand through his hair in what John was beginning to see as a nervous tick. "You're right, they're certainly up to no good."

John nodded "What did they say? What do they want?"

Lestrade looked down at him, searching his face with his dark brown eyes for a moment before letting out a shaky breath "They want you."


End file.
